hope.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You know I have to leave for New York at the end of the month. Can we get things back to normal by then so I don’t have to worry the whole time I’m there?”
“The question is, what is normal?”
“Damn it, just…the way it was before, you know?” He felt the untruthfulness of that statement all the way to his bones. Nothing would ever be the same after last night.
“Things change, Paulie.”
“Well, make it stop. I’ll make some risotto to go with the chicken tonight and we’ll all play Scrabble and turn in early.” And he’d have a talk with Patricia when she felt better about what happened. They could be sensible and return to their old life, right? They could just chalk it up to nature’s consequences and too many cosmopolitans, if that was what he tasted on her lips, that sweet cherry flavor. He lost his thought in a rush of guilt.
He had to leave before Patricia appeared. Paul filled his travel mug with coffee and headed out. He stopped to grab his leather briefcase and overcoat out of the closet.
“Have a nice day, dear,” Pinky called after him.
Paul came over and gave Pinky a peck on the cheek. “Fix it, Pinky. Fix this stupid thing with Brett. Make her see the light.”
“Are you taking the car?”
“No, I hate parking. The bus is fine.”
“You rich buyers are supposed to travel in style.”
Paul smiled. “I must have missed that memo.”
They were eye to eye. Pinky’s dark brown unblinking eyes were scaring him. He saw things there. She saw things back.
“Uhhh. Need coffee.” Paul heard a ragged voice from the hallway and turned to see Patricia wrapped in his old terrycloth bathrobe. They all called it the “sick robe.” It was a sign, for sure. Their eyes met and a very odd moment passed between them.
“She’ll need a fresh pot.” Paul looked at his watch nervously.
“Go, I’ll do it. You’ll be late.” Pinky waved him off. “You need to get to work so Patti the Party Pooper and I can have the best spring samples from New York this year. So tell them you need more money to spend so those reps will shower you with gifts. I want one of those hobo bags for my new spring look.”
He could tell Pinky was rambling him out the door. She also put her hands behind him and shoved him on his way. No subtlety there. He wondered how much the amazing Pinky hadfigured out. He wondered how he was going to live with himself today.
As Paul went out the door, Patricia flung herself on the sofa and curled her legs up under the robe. “Shoot me now, Pinky, make the pounding stop. Just one quick shot to the head.”
“Looks like you already did.” Pinky went to make a fresh pot of coffee. “And how are we doing?”
“I called in sick. You’d think yakking your guts up would make you lose a few pounds. Apparently not.”
“You’re still taking the wonder drug, aren’t you?” Pinky asked.
“Yes, but I have to be able to keep it down.” She moaned and held her head. Talking hurt. The faint taste of sweetness from six Sazeracs made her feel nauseated all over again. “Tell that coffee to hurry. It’s an emergency.”
“Coffee isn’t your friend. Drink this first, then eat this.” Pinky brought a cup of hot tea and a piece of toast over to her and set them on the coffee table. “Herb tea. They actually make one for hangovers.”
“And we happen to have it?”
“There was that Christmas eggnog moment we all had last year, remember?”
“Oh yes. Who knew that eggnog could pack such a wallop?” Patricia accepted Pinky’s gifts and sipped the tea. It wasn’t half bad with honey in it.
Pinky sat down on the other end of the sofa.
“Ouch.” Patricia had to hold her temple for a moment.
“You’ve been bad.”
“Am I grounded?” Patricia grimaced.
“According to Paul you are.”
A faint memory mingled with an overall body tingle awoke from the dark recesses of Patricia’s mind. She must have dreamed about Paul.
“I’ll be here.”
“You know I have to leave for New York at the end of the month. Can we get things back to normal by then so I don’t have to worry the whole time I’m there?”
“The question is, what is normal?”
“Damn it, just…the way it was before, you know?” He felt the untruthfulness of that statement all the way to his bones. Nothing would ever be the same after last night.
“Things change, Paulie.”
“Well, make it stop. I’ll make some risotto to go with the chicken tonight and we’ll all play Scrabble and turn in early.” And he’d have a talk with Patricia when she felt better about what happened. They could be sensible and return to their old life, right? They could just chalk it up to nature’s consequences and too many cosmopolitans, if that was what he tasted on her lips, that sweet cherry flavor. He lost his thought in a rush of guilt.
He had to leave before Patricia appeared. Paul filled his travel mug with coffee and headed out. He stopped to grab his leather briefcase and overcoat out of the closet.
“Have a nice day, dear,” Pinky called after him.
Paul came over and gave Pinky a peck on the cheek. “Fix it, Pinky. Fix this stupid thing with Brett. Make her see the light.”
“Are you taking the car?”
“No, I hate parking. The bus is fine.”
“You rich buyers are supposed to travel in style.”
Paul smiled. “I must have missed that memo.”
They were eye to eye. Pinky’s dark brown unblinking eyes were scaring him. He saw things there. She saw things back.
“Uhhh. Need coffee.” Paul heard a ragged voice from the hallway and turned to see Patricia wrapped in his old terrycloth bathrobe. They all called it the “sick robe.” It was a sign, for sure. Their eyes met and a very odd moment passed between them.
“She’ll need a fresh pot.” Paul looked at his watch nervously.
“Go, I’ll do it. You’ll be late.” Pinky waved him off. “You need to get to work so Patti the Party Pooper and I can have the best spring samples from New York this year. So tell them you need more money to spend so those reps will shower you with gifts. I want one of those hobo bags for my new spring look.”
He could tell Pinky was rambling him out the door. She also put her hands behind him and shoved him on his way. No subtlety there. He wondered how much the amazing Pinky hadfigured out. He wondered how he was going to live with himself today.
As Paul went out the door, Patricia flung herself on the sofa and curled her legs up under the robe. “Shoot me now, Pinky, make the pounding stop. Just one quick shot to the head.”
“Looks like you already did.” Pinky went to make a fresh pot of coffee. “And how are we doing?”
“I called in sick. You’d think yakking your guts up would make you lose a few pounds. Apparently not.”
“You’re still taking the wonder drug, aren’t you?” Pinky asked.
“Yes, but I have to be able to keep it down.” She moaned and held her head. Talking hurt. The faint taste of sweetness from six Sazeracs made her feel nauseated all over again. “Tell that coffee to hurry. It’s an emergency.”
“Coffee isn’t your friend. Drink this first, then eat this.” Pinky brought a cup of hot tea and a piece of toast over to her and set them on the coffee table. “Herb tea. They actually make one for hangovers.”
“And we happen to have it?”
“There was that Christmas eggnog moment we all had last year, remember?”
“Oh yes. Who knew that eggnog could pack such a wallop?” Patricia accepted Pinky’s gifts and sipped the tea. It wasn’t half bad with honey in it.
Pinky sat down on the other end of the sofa.
“Ouch.” Patricia had to hold her temple for a moment.
“You’ve been bad.”
“Am I grounded?” Patricia grimaced.
“According to Paul you are.”
A faint memory mingled with an overall body tingle awoke from the dark recesses of Patricia’s mind. She must have dreamed about Paul.
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