The empty bottle of vodka stared at Kate when the bright sun shone in the window and woke her up. She felt the morning sun on her cheeks as she looked down at the floor. Next to the bottle were her panties, white high heels turned upside down, and candy wrappers.
Oh, what a headache Kate had, as she stood up, and wrapped her bathrobe around her. Goodness, these San Francisco June mornings were cold. She’d had enough of them, really. It seemed that ever since Tom had left last November, the weather had taunted her with day after day of damp, cold fog. Yes, she knew Portola Hill always had fog, but Tom had wanted to live here … Tom. She practically spat out the bad taste of his name.
She walked over to the desk. Her last severance check from Generiplex. Eight weeks she’d been living on those checks. She had enough savings for three more months’ rent, but then what? She looked underneath the Generiplex envelope – a letter from Carlene. Her nauseating sister from El Paso, married to Bud the truck driver and mother to Billy, Laurie, and Jimmy. All those stupid y-names.
Kate went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Empty except for a bottle of V-8 and a grapefruit. Who’d ever drink a glass of vegetable juice after eating a grapefruit? The thought made her stomach lurch and Judy ran for the can.
Ten minutes later, the bitter taste still in her mouth, she took the phone off the hook and dialed the number.
“Carlene,” she heard herself say into the receiver, much to her own surprise, after introductions and a small cry of joy from the other end, “I was thinking about coming to El Paso on a Southwest tour. It’d be lovely to visit you for a while.”
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