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another cigarette. I was past the halfway mark and still had more than a half a pack to go. |
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Half an hour later I heard the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway. There was no mistaking the sound of the out-of-tune Z. The door slammed, and I heard footsteps darting through the rain to the shelter of the overhang in front of the unit. The door flew open, and B.C. stood in the middle of the doorway glaring at me. She was soaked to the bone. Her face was flushed, and her hair hung straight down like strands of wet rope. "This ain't what I had in mind when I volunteered for this damn mission," she fumed. |
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Given the opportunity, I probably would have hauled out my gallant act and offered the wet lady a drink. That opportunity never materialized, because Brenda Cashman marched defiantly past me and straight to the dresser. She grabbed the bottle of Black and White, an empty glass, combined the two and plunked down on the edge of the bed. She took two quick jolts, and within less than 30 seconds she had peeled out of her wet clothes and sat shivering in her bra and panties. |
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"What the hell happened?" I managed. |
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"I'll talk about it when I get out of the damn shower," she snapped. |
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With that she discarded what was left of her limited wardrobe and disappeared into |
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