"I dunno, I seem to be buying more beer than I used to, even with Jerry gone."I dunno, I seem to be buying more beer than I used to, even with Jerry gone." Jerry? Oh, yeah: SWAT. Since she had apparently asked me in to listen while she talked, I kept quiet. Anyway, I was in no position to give anyone advice about ex-spouses. Carol turned back to the living room and I followed. Once there, she sat in the middle of the sofa, which meant I would have to sit very close to her if I joined her there; I took the overstuffed chair instead, keeping my antennae out for any signal of why I was there. "Being a single parent is a bi--, it's no fun," she amended. She slipped off one shoe and massaged the sole of her foot. "I imagine so," I replied sympathetically. Carol knew I had no children -- I'd had a vasectomy when I was 25 -- but I gathered a reply was expected. All I knew about raising kids came from TV and from the horror stories I heard parents tell at work. I watched as she took off her other shoe and sighed again. Then she caught me watching and looked a bit sheepish. "These heels really make my feet hurt, but receptionists are supposed to 'dress to kill', so..." I gave her what I hoped was an understanding leer. "Works for me," I said. "You like very nice in them." Carol blushed slightly, which kind of surprised me. She was very much the independent, self-sufficient, blowout-changing, non-blushing type. "I see you sometimes, watching me when I go to work in the mornings." She was carefully studying the instep she was rubbing. Oops. Caught in the act, eh? Better come clean, I thought. "Well, the first time was just a coincidence, but I confess I watch when I have the opportunity. You're a very attractive waker-upper. Seeing you march down your driveway kind of jump-starts my respiration," I added, placing a hand dramatically over my chest. She stared at me for just an instant and then laughed -- a wonderfully musical laugh of genuine amusement that I had never heard from her before. I liked it. "Well, *you* don't have to wear the damn things," she said. "What women go through...." Followed by a loud mock-sigh. But she continued to work on her instep. |