socialy. For a while, things went wel. Very wel.
My mind ran an X-rated slide show of memorable plays. Beaufort, South Carolina, the first deflected pass, me in cutoffs sans panties, aboard a forty-two-foot Chris-Craft at the Lady’s Island Marina. Charlotte, North Carolina, the first touchdown, me in a man-eater black dress and one of Victoria’s most secret thongs.
Recaling other sports moments, I felt a wee tummy flip. Yep, the guy was that good. And that good-looking.
Then Ryan blew a hole in my heart. The daughter he’d newly discovered but had never known, Lily, was rebelious, angry, addicted to heroin. Racked with guilt, Daddy had decided to reconnect with Mommy and launch a joint effort to save daughter.
And I was out like last year’s shade of lipstick. That was four months ago.
“Screw it.”
Face upturned to the spigot, I belted out a jumbled version of Gloria Gaynor.
“I will survive. I’ve got all my life to live—”
Suddenly, the water went cold. And I was starving. Totaly engaged in processing the celar, and nerve-fried by the underground context in which I was forced to work, I’d been oblivious to hunger. Until now.
Bird stroled in as I was toweling off.
“Sorry,” I said. “Night op. No choice.”
The cat looked skeptical. Or quizzical. Or bored.
“How about a hit of zoom-around-the-room?”
Bird sat and licked one forepaw, indicating forgiveness would not be hurried with a catnip bribe.
Puling on a nightshirt and fuzzy pink socks, I returned to the kitchen.
Another character weakness. I hate errands. Dry cleaning. Car maintenance. Supermarket. I may construct lists, but folow-through is usualy delayed until I’m back-against-the-wal. Consequently, my larder offered the folowing delicacies:
One frozen meat loaf entrée. One frozen chow mein entrée. Cans of tuna, peaches, tomato paste, and green beans. Mushroom, vegetable, and chicken noodle soup.
Packages of dried macaroni and cheese and mushroom risotto.
Bird reappeared as the chow mein was leaving the microwave. Setting the tray on the counter, I got catnip from the pantry and placed it in his mouse.
The cat flopped to his side, clawed the toy with al fours, and sniffed. His character weakness? He likes to get high.
I ate standing at the sink while Bird jazzed his pheromonic receptors on the floor at my feet. Then Ozzy Osbourne and I hit the sack.
Though I was anxious to begin my analysis of the skul and cauldrons, Tuesdays I belonged to UNCC.
Much to Slidel’s annoyance.
As appeasement, I agreed to drop by the MCME at the butt crack of dawn. Skinny’s wording, not mine.
I spent an hour sampling from the chicken and the goat head, and double-checking the bugs I’d colected from the celar. Fortunately, I’d taken time on-site to separate and label them.
Insects packaged and shipped to an entomologist in Hawai, I rushed to campus to teach my morning seminar. In the afternoon I advised students. Legions of them, al concerned about upcoming midterms. Dusk was nothing but a memory when I finaly slipped away.
Wednesday, I was again up with the sun. Rising at daybreak is not my style. I wasn’t enjoying it.
The Mecklenburg County Medical Examiner is located at Tenth and Colege, on the cusp of uptown, in a building that started life as a Sears Garden Center. Which is exactly what it resembles, sans the pansies and philodendra. Squat and featureless, the one-story brick bunker is also home to several Charlotte-Mecklenburg PD satelite offices.
In tune with the original mal theme, landscaping consists of an acre of concrete. Bad news if you’re hoping for a shot at Southern Homes and Gardens. Good news if you’re trying to park your car.
Which I was, at 7:35 A.M.
Card-swiping myself through double glass doors, I entered an empty reception area. A purring silence told me I was first to arrive.
Weekdays, Eunice Flowers screens visitors through a plate-glass window above her desk, granting entrance to some, turning
My mind ran an X-rated slide show of memorable plays. Beaufort, South Carolina, the first deflected pass, me in cutoffs sans panties, aboard a forty-two-foot Chris-Craft at the Lady’s Island Marina. Charlotte, North Carolina, the first touchdown, me in a man-eater black dress and one of Victoria’s most secret thongs.
Recaling other sports moments, I felt a wee tummy flip. Yep, the guy was that good. And that good-looking.
Then Ryan blew a hole in my heart. The daughter he’d newly discovered but had never known, Lily, was rebelious, angry, addicted to heroin. Racked with guilt, Daddy had decided to reconnect with Mommy and launch a joint effort to save daughter.
And I was out like last year’s shade of lipstick. That was four months ago.
“Screw it.”
Face upturned to the spigot, I belted out a jumbled version of Gloria Gaynor.
“I will survive. I’ve got all my life to live—”
Suddenly, the water went cold. And I was starving. Totaly engaged in processing the celar, and nerve-fried by the underground context in which I was forced to work, I’d been oblivious to hunger. Until now.
Bird stroled in as I was toweling off.
“Sorry,” I said. “Night op. No choice.”
The cat looked skeptical. Or quizzical. Or bored.
“How about a hit of zoom-around-the-room?”
Bird sat and licked one forepaw, indicating forgiveness would not be hurried with a catnip bribe.
Puling on a nightshirt and fuzzy pink socks, I returned to the kitchen.
Another character weakness. I hate errands. Dry cleaning. Car maintenance. Supermarket. I may construct lists, but folow-through is usualy delayed until I’m back-against-the-wal. Consequently, my larder offered the folowing delicacies:
One frozen meat loaf entrée. One frozen chow mein entrée. Cans of tuna, peaches, tomato paste, and green beans. Mushroom, vegetable, and chicken noodle soup.
Packages of dried macaroni and cheese and mushroom risotto.
Bird reappeared as the chow mein was leaving the microwave. Setting the tray on the counter, I got catnip from the pantry and placed it in his mouse.
The cat flopped to his side, clawed the toy with al fours, and sniffed. His character weakness? He likes to get high.
I ate standing at the sink while Bird jazzed his pheromonic receptors on the floor at my feet. Then Ozzy Osbourne and I hit the sack.
Though I was anxious to begin my analysis of the skul and cauldrons, Tuesdays I belonged to UNCC.
Much to Slidel’s annoyance.
As appeasement, I agreed to drop by the MCME at the butt crack of dawn. Skinny’s wording, not mine.
I spent an hour sampling from the chicken and the goat head, and double-checking the bugs I’d colected from the celar. Fortunately, I’d taken time on-site to separate and label them.
Insects packaged and shipped to an entomologist in Hawai, I rushed to campus to teach my morning seminar. In the afternoon I advised students. Legions of them, al concerned about upcoming midterms. Dusk was nothing but a memory when I finaly slipped away.
Wednesday, I was again up with the sun. Rising at daybreak is not my style. I wasn’t enjoying it.
The Mecklenburg County Medical Examiner is located at Tenth and Colege, on the cusp of uptown, in a building that started life as a Sears Garden Center. Which is exactly what it resembles, sans the pansies and philodendra. Squat and featureless, the one-story brick bunker is also home to several Charlotte-Mecklenburg PD satelite offices.
In tune with the original mal theme, landscaping consists of an acre of concrete. Bad news if you’re hoping for a shot at Southern Homes and Gardens. Good news if you’re trying to park your car.
Which I was, at 7:35 A.M.
Card-swiping myself through double glass doors, I entered an empty reception area. A purring silence told me I was first to arrive.
Weekdays, Eunice Flowers screens visitors through a plate-glass window above her desk, granting entrance to some, turning
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