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dated when she sells something. |
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The transition from New York to the campus of Saint Francis is a great deal like plunging head first into a time warp. It was dark by the time I pulled up in front of the condo complex. I stumbled up to the second floor, dragging my survival kit and the overnight bag, plunked them down in the foyer and went directly to the answering machine. There were three messages. |
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The first one was from the "call lady" (we had a lengthy discussion one time on why she shouldn't call herself the "call girl") of our local writers group informing me that the monthly meeting was postponed. The second was from Brenda Cashman, and the third from a growling Cosmo Leach who was more than mildly irritated that I wasn't there to snap up the phone and hang breathlessly on his every word. It was after nine o'clock, which meant that Cosmo had already retired to his study for the evening and wouldn't answer the phone even if I returned his call. Ergo, I called Brenda. To my surprise, it was a local number, and she answered on the third ring. |
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"I came to see you," she said in a voice surprisingly husky for a woman I had pictured as sounding much younger. |
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"You're lucky you caught me. I've been out of town." |
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"It was a long shot," she admitted. "Did you get the clippings I sent you, and did you |
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