Corrita - Part 1 free porn video

Title Coritta (Part 1) A few words before. After writing four pieces I decided I wanted to try something of real length. I will post this in two or three parts. I looked back over my prior pieces and decided to emphasize growth of character. There will not be a lot of sex. I also wanted to write a piece with a definite ending. I hope you enjoy. Chapter 1 Not Butch: If you were to sit in my cubicle in what we called "analysts row" on the 18th floor of my old office building and turn with your back to the desk, you would look at a blank off-white wall. When the sun was setting the light would flood this wall with gold and red and for a few moments the offices of Jerome and Field, Investment Planners, would become magical. I lived for those moments and would see the light reflected into my cubicle and I stopped work and basked in its warmth and magic. Then I would sigh and turn back to my desk. That late August afternoon I enjoyed the moment of light and then looked back at the papers on my desk. I continued editing the report I was writing. I stared at the last paragraph for what seemed the thousandth time. "Despite the glowing reports from internal sources and the financial journals I do not think that Reallo Metals is a good investment. The uncertainties in the Chinese construction boom and the increased sophistication of Indian and Korean scrap metal dealers have not adequately been taken into consideration. The plan for investing between 2.8 and 3.3 million dollars, hoping for long-term growth, is fraught with uncertainty. I advise against this move." I highlighted "fraught". It sounded pompous and reaching for my thesaurus I looked for a good replacement. My reports were known for being short, readable and best of all as accurate as was possible in today's market. My nickname was "Little Thought" a play on the computer "Deep Thought" in "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" and a phrase I was constantly using; "If the planner had given this a little thought...". It also reflected on my height or lack thereof. Finally I hit "save" and then "print" and as the printer chugged through the five copies I leaned back and stretched. I reached over and grabbing paper stapled the reports and put routing slips on them. I knew the work was good but my stomach was sour as I stared at my writing. "Oh great, another piece of shit from the desk of Sam Haber. Let the other analysts bow before my expertise. Who knows maybe I'll even get a bonus." I put on my jacket and turning off the desk lamp dropped the stack of reports in my boss's in-box and headed out the door, It was 6:45 and I was one of the last out of the office. I could go home and watch TV, I could go to a local bar and get a bit drunk and watch TV. I could walk aimlessly about Manhattan silently cursing the tourists and couples and taxi drivers and everybody else I passed. I could just sit down on the curb and be miserable. I just caught the 4 train and went to my condo on 28th street. I smiled and said good evening to the doorman, gathered my mail and took the elevator up to the 14th floor and tossing the mail on my desk slumped in my chair and looked out of the window. A couple of days ago a distant relative had come into the city and I took her out to dinner. During the meal she smiled idiotically at me. "Gee Sam, I mean you have got it made. You are single and earning good money in the city. I'm stuck doing boring stuff in Indiana and you've got a condo in Manhattan. You have got to be delirious with joy." I smiled and mumbled something appropriate while wishing her hell and muggings and everything else. Now I sat in my place and wished there was something I wanted to do in the city. I was Samuel Haber, the genius of Jerome and Field. I was that little guy who rarely smiles but seems to know instinctively when an investment would be good or go sour. I earned a very good salary but still worked in a cubicle. I could purchase a nice one bedroom condo in Manhattan but never entertained. I lived in the great city and had nothing to do. Last year I started seeing a therapist to deal with the non-stop anger and depression. After a few sessions Dr. Himmel asked if I had ever heard the term "ahedonic" or "ahedonia". Then he told me that he thought I was depressed (no shit) had trouble enjoying things (duh) was overly critical of myself and others (right) and felt as though I was being victimized by the world. I stopped seeing him shortly after that. The last comment was wrong. I didn't feel like a victim, I was just pissed off. I couldn't laugh at what others laughed at, even Seinfeld left me cold. I watched TV news because it passed the time. When I felt energized I sat at my home computer and wrote bad romance novels with Hispanic characters. When I didn't have the energy for that I read Spanish romance novels I picked up at local drug stores. My only other escape was spending time with Kate or Mike. I thought about them that evening trying to decide if I should give one of them a call. If there were ever two opposite people it was them and yet they were the only two people I could bear to spend time with. Kate was the stereotypical sharp, observant New York lesbian with one foot in the arts world and the other in structured giving arrangements and estate planning. Mike seemed slow, almost mentally handicapped with his hesitant speech and ponderous movements. He worked for AMTRAK and was actually the owner of a whip smart mathematical brain. Once when all three of us had drinks together I thought of the three of us as dogs. Kate was a border collie all motion and noise. Mike was a bloodhound, slow and relaxed. Me, I was the mangy junk yard mutt snapping at everything. I reached for the phone and tried their numbers and said "hi" to answering machines. Feeling desperate I grabbed a jacket and headed out to hit a bar and grab a burger. I decided to go to the "Charles Dodgson" where Kate sometimes hung out. If she wasn't there at least a game would be on the TV and the food was decent. Dr. Himmel was wrong. There was something I enjoyed. I liked walking and as I stepped out and felt the rhythm of my foot steps I began to calm down. I took the long way around and it was almost 9:00 when I entered the bar and looked about. I was happy to see Kate and waved. She caught my eye and gave just brief wave back. A quick look told me that she would not appreciate a third at the table and left her chatting with a dumpy looking blond while I sat at the bar and ordered a burger and a beer. I would lose myself in the game. Maybe the Mets would even win. I'd get a little tipsy and wander home. Somehow I would get through another evening. It was in the seventh inning with the Mets down by three when I felt a tap on my shoulder and looking around saw Kate. "Hi Sam. Take your beer and come over and sit with me. I've lost at love and could do with a dose of your cynicism." I grabbed my jacket and beer and moved to the corner table and sat with Kate. She told me about Janet who had turned out to be boring and narrow minded and from there moved onto her day and finally asked if I was doing as poorly as I looked. I just shrugged and commented that life was the "same old same old" and kept an eye on the TV as the Mets lost 7 to 2. "I like that jacket" said Kate. "Is it new?" I looked at the jacket as if I had never seen it before. It was a brown corduroy jacket that would have been more appropriate on a moor in Scotland but I liked the feel. "Yeah. I saw it in a window and bought in on a lark. Only $80 and it fits me, more is the miracle." We talked for a while and then I headed out wandering the city streets until almost 1:00 AM. When I got home I saw the message light was blinking and pushed the button. "Hi Sam it's Kate. Oh God (I could hear her suppressed laughter) this is so rich. Give me a call when you have a chance. This you will laugh at I promise. Night Night." In Kate's world 1:00 AM wasn't too late but I liked to be at my desk by 8:00 so I made a mental note to give her a buzz the next day. I showered, shaved and crawled into bed and was awakened by the radio clock spitting out some inanity about the perfect small car and who to buy it from. About 10:00 that morning I was sitting at my desk deep in thought. I had just come from a talk with Mr. Field who had read my report. He made a few comments about it and then brought up the matter of an older project. "Well you did it again Sam. That piece you did about the effect of the recent strikes in France and the competition with Boeing was correct as usual. Cooper, over in Finance figures we would have lost about half a million if we invested in Airbus. Good job. I'm betting on a bonus for you. Do you really think Reallo is weak?" I answered briefly, received another set of compliments and went and sat back in my cubicle. On the way over I dropped something off at another drone's cell and looked at the decorations. Ralph had pictures of his boat and his girlfriend on one wall. On his desk was a Yankee bobble-head doll. The space looked lived in. I looked around my cubicle. If I left tomorrow no archeologist would be able to say what kind of person sat there. My phone rang and the double tone told me it was an outside line. "Jerome and Field. Samuel Haber here." "Oh wow, so formal. Hi it's Kate. I couldn't wait for you to call me. This is delicious. Do you remember Arleen, you know the model." I cast my memory around and admitted that I could not place any model named Arleen. "Sam you know who I mean; tall with golden hair and green eyes. She usually sits at the corner of the bar at the Charley Dog. She's the one who brought in that obscene poster from Japan and hung it in the back when no-one was looking." I dredged Arleen up in my memory and found an overly skinny super model type who could have used a few more pounds and couple of fewer hits of coke. "Oh yeah, her. That's right I remember." "OK now, are you sitting Sam?" "Uh huh. Hey Kate I'm at work can we get to the point?" "Oh sorry. OK. A few minutes after you left she came over and draped herself over a chair at my table, looked deep into my eyes and asked me "so who was the butch you were chatting up." "Huh?" "Well I didn't know how to respond either because no one would describe Janet as butch. And Arleen kept on. She said "you know who I mean, in the corduroy." Then the coin dropped. She meant you Sam." I just listened with my mind trying to assemble the facts. "You there Sam?" "Yes." "So Sam if you want a date with a super model I can get you one. Just one problem she thinks you're a real butch dyke and can't wait for you to get all rough with her." I sighed and felt the irritation build. "Very funny Kate. What were you calling about?" Kate got serious. "I'm telling the truth. No I am not expecting you to go out with Arleen. For one thing she's too dumb. I just thought you'd be amused. You're not angry are you?" I thought for a few second's. "No Kate, actually that is funny. Thanks. Hey I'm probably up for a bonus how about joining me for drinks after work? Not the Charley Dog though, I'm not in the mood for fending off a super-model." Chapter 2: Kate Buys The Drinks When Kate goes for drinks she can be one of two people and after work I met Kate the savvy estate planner and we sat at an upscale bar while Kate waved to and occasionally talked with people she knew. I met people and shook hands and exchanged cards and when the commuters wandered out Kate and I sat back in plush arm chairs and sipped our drinks. "I'm paying tonight Sam" she said. "You may be getting a bonus but I'm feeling good about the world and it's my treat." I raised my glass to her and smiled. I was feeling better about the world than usual and Kate and I chatted about the city, our jobs and mutual acquaintances. When we finished our second round of drinks I invited her up to my apartment saying that I thought I could scrounge together some pasta if she didn't mind sauce from a jar. We passed back and forth the old joke about me (straight) making a pass at her (gay) and grabbed a cab. While I put some water on the stove and then started to sort through the day's mail Kate wandered the living room looking at magazines and books. I was a few minutes into reading a notice from the condominium board when Kate spoke up. "Hey Sam, this print out; did you write this?" I wandered over and saw that Kate had picked up a draft of one of the romance novels I occasionally worked on when my tension built up and I could not sleep. I felt a little embarrassed by her reading it but couldn't think of anything to say other than admit I was the author. "Yeah, when I can't sleep I write cheap fiction. I'm addicted to it. If you looked in my bedroom you'd see a few Spanish bodice busters on the bed side table. "Bodice busters?" "Uh huh. You know racy novels for women but not really erotic." "And you write these?" "Kate, it's just something I do to make time pass. It's mindless. Nothing special." I went back to the kitchen and threw some sauce in the microwave while I waited for the pot to boil and scrounged in my fridge for some veggies. After a while I set some plates out and Kate helped me grab silverware and cut bread. We sat down to eat and listened to music from the stereo. While we were eating Kate brought up the subject of the romance again. "I got about 10 pages into the story. You're a good writer you know. I mean you actually make me feel like I'm in Puerto Rico. What name are these published under? I must have stared like a deer in headlights. "Sam, I asked what name you use when these get published?" "I've never published anything Kate. I just write them, edit them, which is the part I like most and then move on." "But this is good stuff." "Drop it Kate." I'll say this for Kate she takes a hint quickly and turned the subject to her favorite reading matter and then to a movie she saw and the evening wore on. When she was ready to leave she asked if she could take the printout to keep reading. For some reason I felt my hackles rise but this was Kate so I didn't snap at her. "Actually I rather you didn't. I mean it's not finished or edited yet." Kate smiled. "Can I read one you have finished?" We jockeyed back and forth but finally I went to my bookshelf and pulled down a loose-leaf binder. "Here. This is one I finished a few months ago. Let's see, The Rialto Girls. But Kate, please don't tell others about this OK." Kate promised and giving me a kiss on the cheek left me with the dishes to wash. As I rinsed dishes and put them into the dishwasher I thought about the evening. I was a bit bothered that Kate had found out about the books, but could live with it. Anyway I always wanted to have someone read what I wrote and tell me if the stuff was any good. It began in college when I fell sick in my junior year. For five weeks I lay in bed or sat in a chair. I did some school work, I watched TV and finally in desperation I picked up a romance novel from my aunt's collection. I was fascinated. So I read another. By the time I was back in school I had read about a dozen. I discovered that romance novels were formulaic. I said "Gee I could write one of these". I went back to school and forgot all about it. Then I moved to New York to work and discovered the joys of the local Hispanic culture. I speak Spanish very well and traveled a little in Mexico and Puerto Rico and spent a term in Honduras. Now I was reading Spanish newspapers and listening to Spanish TV and radio. One day I noticed a Spanish romance novel in a bookstore and was hooked again. To make time pass in the evenings I would sit at my computer with travel books, maps and magazines and craft short novels of young, not quite virginal, women seeking true love and finding adventure, danger and of course true love. Then I'd edit the stories and put them away. It never occurred to me to try and get them published. In bed that night I thought about my life and finally almost crying from the depressing mess I saw, I rolled over and forced myself to repeatedly count to twenty trying to only think of the numbers until I fell asleep. The days passed and one Sunday on a rainy weekend my phone rang. "Hi Sam, it's Kate." We said the pleasantries and asked about each other's weekends and then Kate went on. "Sam I just finished The Rialto Girls. I really enjoyed it. I mean you got some things wrong about the, oh I guess the technicalities of being a woman but I loved the story. I mean I'm not into men but some of the scenes between Juliette and Marco were really hot. Look I've got a contact in publishing. I manage her money and she is something of a friend. Can I show this to her?" I said no, but Kate was persuasive and promised not to use my name so I gave in as long as she promised to buy me drinks again when she returned the novel. Then we talked about the Mets and possibly gathering a few people and going to a game and hung up to get on with our lives. My life got busy about then because Jerome and Field became involved in a Gulf of Guinea oil exploration project and the analysts were trying to figure out how to assess the financial risks. So I spent long hours at the office and except for the occasional call didn't speak to Kate. The fact that I had loaned her a novel completely slipped my mind. When she called, it was three weeks later and I was sitting at my desk when the double ring of the phone pulled me away from the question of reinsurance and how does one account for bribes and corruption. "Jerome and Field. Samuel Haber here." "Hi Sam it's Kate. Have you got a minute." "Just one, how's it going." "Oh I'm fine. Look I got a call this morning from Helen Bornstein of Miner and Sons Publishing. She read your novel and liked it. She liked it a lot. She wants to meet. Can you meet us after work?" "I thought you were going to keep my name out of it." "Oh I have, she has no idea who you are. But please Sam... this could be something important for you. Meet us at the Waldorf at 5:15 OK." It was easier to agree than spend more time on the phone and I dug into the papers on my desk so that I could finish in time to make the meeting. With world finance, African politics and Chinese influence swirling around my head I somehow managed to come up with a few succinct paragraphs explaining why I thought we needed to find more partners to share the risk and suggested two investment houses that might be approached. When I looked up it was just after 5:00 and I grabbed my coat and fled the office. Drinks at the Waldorf are rare occasion so I stood and looked around at the dark wood and comfortable settings for a while before looking for Kate. I spotted her sunk into a leather easy chair speaking with a middle aged woman. I waved and walked over and as Kate made the introductions I felt the woman's eyes running over me with an amused smile. "Hello Mr. Haber. Well as Kate said I'm Helen. I like what I read. I want to talk to you about the world of romance novels. Would you be interested in becoming a published author?" We ordered drinks and I relaxed because the conversation did not immediately turn to me or my writing but somehow ended up on digital cameras and cell phones and other electronic devices. As we talked I found myself liking Helen Bornstein more and more. I looked her over and decided she was probably in her late forties. She wore a wedding ring and mentioned a Milton who I took to be her husband. Best of all she never spoke in clich?s. After a while Helen took a deep breath and looked at me. "Sam, let's talk about the publishing business. Your book is good. It needs work but not too much. Miner and Sons has a division that does romance novels but we haven't had anything to attract the Hispanic audience. I had an associate, Lisa Agudelo, look it over and she thinks that women her age are ready for a racier, English language, Hispanic sensibilities series. How did you learn so much about Latin America?" We talked for awhile about my being a Spanish/Business major in college, the vacations I had taken in Mexico and Puerto Rico and the term abroad I had spent at a college in Honduras. We touched on the fact that I did not want to be known as an author of racy romances. I told her I had three other novels finished and one in the works. We danced around the subject of contracts. Finally I opened the subject of money and books. "Helen I am not interested in being a contract author. You know work for a rate and turn out a book a month. We have to come to an agreement where I get advances and royalties and work at my own pace. I have to tell you that I will have any contract closely looked at by an attorney." "Fine Sam. That is no problem. We have a few things that would have to be worked out such as the royalties and how many books you would commit to. But there is something more immediate, actually two things." Helen looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Well the first is your name, but you said you don't want to get known for this. You need a pen name. You need a woman's pen name. Second, there are a number of passages where you describe getting dressed, or putting on make-up and they are not convincing. You don't seem to have much experience here. There are little bits and pieces throughout the book which are just wrong." "Experience, none actually" I laughed "I've taken off some women's clothes but that's about it." "Well you'll have to work with an editor and she can rewrite parts of the story." I froze. My mind quickly started doing calculations. So far Kate, Helen and possibly this Lisa person knew about me. I needed a lawyer who understood publishing contracts and my accountant would need to know. Now Helen was talking about an editor as well. "Uh, this is getting a bit out of hand. How many people will need to know who I am?" We argued back and forth until Kate, who had said nothing for a while, reminded us of her presence. "Got it. Helen what if I work with Sam on some of the wording? I'll be a go between, between Sam and Miner and Sons so he doesn't have to show up at your offices and Sam, if you'll allow it, we can set up a blind account for your payments through my office." We broke up shortly thereafter and Helen left to get a train while Kate and I went off to find a place to eat. We sat in a nice Italian place in the 60s and Kate went on for a while about how hard it was to be dating when you're 35. Finally over desert I turned the subject back to the book. "Kate, there was a tone in your voice when you said you'd help me with the wording that worries me. The last time I heard it you were planning a surprise party. I don't like surprises so tell me what you have in mind." Kate smiled and took a sip of coffee. "I figured you could experiment a bit and try dressing up. I'd help and you'd be able to write what it..." "Hold on. Are you asking me to cross dress for this?" "Yup." "You are insane." Kate laughed. "Yeah, well it helps, but no I mean it. There is that chapter where Juliette is putting on her bra when Marco comes in and kisses her, and she can't decide whether to be stuck with her arms behind her or let go and have the bra drop off. Well the bra wouldn't drop off. They don't work like that. I could help you and you'd sound more convincing." I just shook my head and poured the last of the wine into my glass. "I'd look stupid." "What does it matter? Who would see you other than me? Anyway you've already convinced a dumb model you're a woman so who knows, maybe you'd look okay." I just kept shaking my head and we ended compromising that Kate would work with me on some of the wording and I would not make any definite refusals. We called Mike and he and his girlfriend joined us for drinks and music at a club and the evening passed pleasantly. Later, at home, I wondered why I felt better than I had in years. I stood looking out of my window at the passing cars. Maybe it was because I was doing something other than just financial shit. Maybe it was because I was receiving compliments. It didn't matter. I felt good and looked forward to a tomorrow for the first time since I had left college. Chapter 3: Names and Histories A few days later a thick envelope arrived at my apartment including a sample contract with no names, a copy of the book with so many comments and corrections I thought I was back in a creative writing class and a letter from Helen. The letter went over many things but one sentence struck me. "We need to come up with a Latin sounding name with good rhythm so it will roll of the reader's tongue and a history that intrigues the public while explaining why you are using a non-de-plume." I needed to come up with a name and a history. The name was easy. I turned on Spanish radio and listened for a while until I found a few first and last names that I liked. I played mix and match with them saying them aloud and writing them down. After a bit I crossed out all but one. I took a fresh sheet of paper and printed in large letters; CORRITA DEL BARCO. From there it was easy to come up with a story. Corrita was born in Puerto Rico and was 29 years old (my age). She moved to New York when she was nine and was now a successful business woman in the banking industry. Between the straitlaced types in banking and her family she was forced use a pen name. End of story. I picked up the contract and read through it. I was pretty good with legal documents but this one left me totally confused and I made a note to call a lawyer acquaintance and find a specialist in this field to help me out. Finally I made a cup of coffee and sat down with The Rialto Girls and began reading it slowly checking the comments in the margins. I had to admit most of the comments were right. I paid special attention to comments about scenes involving dressing, make-up, shopping, etc. I thought about the other stories I had written and pulling them down looked for appropriate passages. Helen was right. There were parts of the writing which felt true and parts that felt forced. Kate would have to help me do some rewriting. I looked at the clock and was shocked to find it was after midnight so I showered and slid into bed getting up twice to make notes to myself before drifting off to sleep. During a break at work I spoke with my lawyer friend and he promised to find me a resource. I also called Kate and we agreed on an evening to go over the story. Kate told me she'd be over about 8:00 and to have some wine ready. I accused her of being a lush and we laughed and hung up. When that evening rolled around I was watching the Mets hammer Cincinnati when the door bell rang. I let Kate in and turned to watch Rickie Henderson send a shot into right field, batting in another run. "Wine's on the table. I'll be with you in a minute" I said and heard Kate moving around behind me. With the Mets up 6 to 1 in the seventh I felt comfortable turning off the TV and turned around. I nearly stumbled over my feet as I saw what Kate was laying out on the table. "What the hell are those?" Kate looked up and answered innocently "this is a bra and these are pantyhose." "Well yes, but why?" "Sam, if you are going to describe how it feels to use women's clothes you are going to need a little experience. Wow, you've gone pale. Here, sit down and I'll pour you a glass of wine." I sat down and Kate put a glass of wine in my hand. I took a gulp. "Have you chosen a name yet?" "Uh, yes, Corrita. I mean Corrita del Barco." "Pretty, hey those aren't snakes I put out. They are just some clothes. I had to guess on the size but they'll give you the idea." "Kate I did not agree to dress up." "I know but it will be the best way for you to figure things out. Anyway it could be fun. C'mon. Loosen up a bit. You can't be Samuel Haber financial whiz all the time." I took another sip of wine. I took a deep breath and nodded and stood up and pulled the window blinds. "What are we going to do?" Kate suggested that we find a passage in The Rialto Girls that included a woman either taking off or putting on a bra or hose and read it together and I dug through my copy I had until I found a paragraph that was marked up. I put my finger on the passage and read the bit aloud. "Juliette stared out of the window at the blue waters. A breeze made the curtains wander like the hands of sea ghosts and the cool air lay upon her breasts. She slipped on the brassiere and reaching behind hooked the clips feeling the support and pressure. In the dim reflection of the glass she could see both herself and the water. For a moment the white brassiere looked like coral and her firm breasts like waves on the surface." Kate waited a moment. "I like the imagery. It really works, but a woman with breasts of any size would know that was wrong and you do say that Juliette is well endowed. So what you need to do is stand up and try and put on a bra." I stood up in a daze. "You'll have to take off your shirt." I unbuttoned my shirt and then while Kate watched I pulled it off and then took off the singlet beneath it. I have always been sensitive about being seen without my clothes on. Maybe being only five four and a bit chunky, OK being overweight, was good reason. Kate looked at me with no expression and then took the bra and handed it to me. "Now face the wall and imagine that it is that window overlooking the Caribbean." I looked around and then I just froze and stood looking at Kate. She smiled at me and gave me a "well..." look. Then she waved at the wall and I faced it and looked at a poster I had. I slipped my arms through the loops and putting my hands behind me tried to clip the bands. After about a minute of fumbling I heard Kate laugh. She came up behind me and guided my fingers while I managed to clip the bra. The band felt odd as is pressed in on my ribs and I felt very uncomfortable standing there with Kate looking at me. It was odd. I expected to be revolted as well as embarrassed. I could not figure out my reaction. "OK. Now you see that it's not just reaching behind. Oh many women can quickly slip on a bra but think about this..." "Wait a moment Kate. Help me get out of this thing." Kate laughed again and coming up to me reached around and unclipped the bra and pulled it over my arms. I pulled my shirt back on and sat down to take another swallow of wine. Kate tossed the bra on the table and taking her wine plumped down on a chair. "Sam, most women can't just grab a bra and slip it on. Now Juliette sounds like she is about a C-cup. Have you ever watched a woman get dressed?' I nodded. "Was she large or small breasted." I thought back to Lauren. "Yes I see. Lauren would put the bra on backwards, swivel it around her waist and then bend over a bit. Then she would lift the bra up so that her beasts would fall into the cups and slip her arms through the straps. Sometimes she'd clip it behind her back but she always had to bend over. I don't know though if I can write that up and make it sound sensual." We talked for a while about some wording and then Kate suggested that I try on the pantyhose but I said I had enough for the evening and after a while she left. I sat back down and thought about the evening. I poured a bit more wine and gazed at the ceiling. I thought about the passage Kate and I had worked on. I wasn't happy with some of the wording but I could see how it sounded more authentic. With some editing it could be both realistic and romantic. Music played softly and the wine was having an effect on me. I drifted while trying to imagine what Corrita del Barco would be like. Was Corrita tall or short, slender or plump? Did she have long dark hair or was it cut in a New York business woman's style? What were her breasts like and did she have to bend over when she put on her bra in the morning? I awoke with a start to realize I had fallen asleep on the couch. A quick check of my watch told me it was almost 1:30. I tried to remember my dream. I was sitting on a bus or a subway and people were looking at me. They weren't laughing but they were looking at me closely. As I stood up to get off I noticed that I was wearing a light grey suit. It was a man's suit but I was wearing a brassiere and it was noticeable. I was also carrying a woman's bag rather than my standard black nylon case. I felt the peoples' eyes on me and could feel the bra as I walked. Then I woke up. Chapter 4: Rewrite Coming back from work that day I stopped at my favorite news dealer and looked over the foreign papers. I chose El Diario de El Paso from Juarez, Mexico. I did some grocery shopping and went home. At my apartment I glanced over the mail and listened to a couple of messages. Then I changed into a running suit and set about preparing a quick meal. When I came out of the kitchen I noticed the brassiere and the package of pantyhose and laughed at the previous evening's activities and sat down to eat some chicken while reading the Mexican paper. After dinner I cleared the table and pulled out my computer and the marked up copy of The Rialto Girls. Once again I looked at the comments. This time however I asked myself what would a woman named Corrita write? I tried to put myself in the mind frame of Corrita and began working on a section where she was sitting at home painting her toenails and dreaming about her upcoming trip to Honduras. I got nowhere. I looked through my notes and found that I had used information from the web on how to best paint toenails but Helen said it all sounded artificial. Finally I gave up. To write this I'd need some experience. I put on some sneakers and went to the local drugstore. It was embarrassing buying bright red nail polish, clear polish and pads of polish remover but I made it back to the apartment without incident and sat down on my couch pulled my shoes and socks off and stared at my feet for a minute. The web site said to start by wiping down my nails with polish remover and then after letting that dry to start with the clear polish, then the colored polish and finally a coat of clear polish. I put a towel on the couch and pulled my knee to my chest and opened the box of pads. Then I stopped. Something was missing. I tried to think. I imagined Juliette sitting on the couch. She'd be in underwear and a nice robe (heroines in my stories always wear nice robes) and she'd... I stopped. I knew what was missing. If Juliette pulled her knee up it would press against her breasts. I actually giggled at the thought. Then I laughed and took off the running suit top and my t-shirt and picked the brassiere up from the side table. I turned it around and clipped the band and leaning over pulling it up, swiveling it around and slipping my arms through the straps. I looked down at the flat and empty cups and tried to think of what would approximate Juliette's breasts and finally gave up and packed a singlet into each side. It was lumpy and not convincing but it would suffice. After all I wasn't trying to look like a woman just trying to figure out some mechanics. I pulled my t-shirt back on; laughed at my image in a mirror I passed and sat back down on the couch. Now as I put my foot on the edge of the couch and leaned over I could feel my knee pressing against the folded material and felt the shift in the bra straps as I moved. I worked on my toes slowly, occasionally stopping to make a note on some paper. When I was done and could finally sit back to let the polish dry I was shocked to see that almost 40 minutes had passed. My toes looked strange and I suppose the job I did was less than perfect but still I had learned a number of things. When I was sure the polish had dried I went over to my computer and sat down and rewrote the paragraph. Then I hunted down some paragraphs where Juliette had felt her brassiere and rewrote them. Two cups of tea and three hours later I saved my files and looked at the clock. It was time for bed. I undressed and then was faced with the process of removing the nail polish. I looked at my toes and grumbled. Oh well, I wore socks and shoes and no one was going to see me naked. I could live for a day with nail polish. I showered and shaved and looked at myself in the mirror. Not for the first time I told myself I had to get more exercise and loose about ten pounds. Then I went back out to the living room and tidied up, putting away the notes and the nail polish and shoved the brassiere and the pantyhose into my sock drawer. I listened to the news for a few minutes and realized I had not paid attention to my beloved Mets. They had won so that was good. I reached over, turned off the light and slept. Again I dreamed. Normally when I dream I see a random set of images that are unconnected with my life. This night I dreamt I was sitting at my desk at Jerome and Field talking with various people as they walked by. What first struck me when I awoke was that my desk was in a larger space so that people could walk in front of it. It was only as I thought about it that I remembered I was again wearing the light grey suit. Again I was wearing a brassiere but this time I also was bare foot and the bright red polish on my toenails was there for everybody to see. No one commented on anything and most of the dream involved me trying to explain something mathematical. I thought about the dream as I drank my coffee and looked over the Wall Street Journal. I was more impressed by having a larger work space than perturbed or amused by the brassiere and painted nails. I forgot about the dream quickly however as my eyes were caught by an article about Jerome and Field. I quickly scanned it for bad news and then went back and read it in detail. After a minute or so I took a deep breath. It was just a standard announcement about trades and purchases. I finished my coffee and got ready for work. At work I was quickly absorbed in answering e-mails, responding to queries from the finance group and reading the many resources I used to stay on top of the world. It was only when someone passed by and stopped to talk about his evening or ask a question that I remembered that I was wearing polish on my toe nails. For the rest of the day it was fun to meet with people and in the back of my mind say "...yes that is interesting about Chase Bank, but you'd never guess about my toe nails." I stopped for a drink and snack on the way home and when I got back to my apartment found a message from Kate. I called and we chatted and I thanked her for helping me. I turned down an offer for her to come over that evening but we set another date and then talk turned to mutual acquaintances. I changed into the running suit bottoms and a polo shirt and light sweater and sat down to pay some bills and sort through the mail. Then I pulled out The Rialto Girls folder and turned on the computer and sat down to work but I could not get started. Finally I just stared at the ceiling trying to figure out why I was blocked when that never had happened before. On a whim I talked to myself as if I were Corrita del Barco and answered in Spanish. Then I took off my shirt and once again put on the brassiere, stuffed the cups and changed my sneakers for a pair of sandals. I sat down again at the table and in Spanish ordered myself to get my mind on the job. I started typing and bit by bit rewrote page after page. I had started at page one but the words just flowed. I edited, changed, rewrote and moved swiftly until on page 14 I hit a section where Juliette painted her nails while talking with her friend Sophia. I looked at the passage. Sure I knew in principal what was involved. I read the passage again. It sounded more like a mechanic's manual than a story. I sighed a bit and pulled the nail polish and pads from the bathroom cabinet. I looked at my hands, I kept my nails clean and clipped but beyond that I didn't pay any attention to them. Now I looked them over. I couldn't use the red polish but the clear enamel shouldn't be a problem. I turned on financial news and sat on the couch. First I filed the edges a bit and then I cleaned the nails with a pad. Then I slowly stroked on a coat of clear polish. First one hand and then the other until my nails were shiny. After my nails had dried I went back to the computer and looked at the passage. Juliette would have occasionally blown on her nails. She and Sophia would have mused about going out together to a salon for fancy manicures. I typed and corrected and typed and thought. Occasionally when reaching for the edited copy or picking up my mug of tea my arm would brush against the mounds beneath my polo shirt and I would smile and make a note of the sensation. When I finished rewriting the second chapter I called it a night. Again I decided to leave my toenails red and shiny fingernails wouldn't be that strange in my office. I knew some of the men had manicures when they got haircuts. I put things away and opening up the drawer to put away the brassiere noticed the package of pantyhose. I sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed. "OK Kate would like to see this." I pulled them out of the plastic wrapping. They were tan and almost transparent. I remembered how Lauren would roll up each leg, sort of like a reverse telescope and then pointing her toes slide into the hose. I tried to imitate her actions and managed to pull them on. The feeling was one that combined tightness with lightness. My legs and bottom were being held and yet the material was so thin as to be more suggestion than reality. I looked down and could see the red of my polish through the un-reinforced toes. I laughed again and pulling off the hose put them in the drawer. From there it was into the shower. I checked myself in the mirror and decided I could skip shaving for a day and as I touched my cheek noticed the shine of the nails. Later in bed as the city noises filtered through the windows I asked myself what I was doing. Was I enjoying myself? Was I trying to be Corrita? Was this just research? Somewhere along the line I fell asleep and woke up to my clock radio telling me that only by shopping at this one store would I ever get ahead in the world. Chapter 5. Kate and Coritta I woke refreshed and had a cup of coffee. Instead of my standard bagel with cream cheese I just had some toast. When I was finished with the Wall Street Journal I brushed my teeth and opened my closet to grab a suit or slacks and a blazer. I stood looking at my closet. I had never paid much attention to clothing. I bought classic suits and jackets from a conservative store. I paired them with white or blue shirts and boring ties. I dressed the way bankers had twenty years earlier. Finance in 1999 was still a conservative world but times had changed. I took out a black pinstrip suit and white shirt but digging through my ties I found one that was scarlet with small gold spots on it. I had bought it on a whim and never wore it. At work I settled down and lost myself in trades and risks looking up only when Jessica from the Information Technology group dropped by to upgrade my computer. We talked at she brought up files from the server. As she was leaving she looked me up and down. "New look Sam? I like it." "What?" "Oh you know the brighter tie, and a manicure. You've always been the grey bird in the flock. OK well I'm off to the hallowed heights to upgrade Ms. Simmons's machine. See ya." I sat for a bit. The "grey bird", it was an apt description. I dressed to disappear. Now I put on a new tie and got a compliment. A few weeks ago I would have snapped off a sarcastic reply. Something had changed and I liked it. Maybe I should be seeing Dr. Himmel. I laughed at my thoughts. Sure Sam, stop seeing a therapist when you're depressed and start again when you're happy. I shrugged and got to work. I decided to walk home to get some exercise and stopped at a shop on Madison Avenue and looked in the window. There was an ivory linen suit. Maybe if I lost weight I would buy something like that for the summer. A striped blue and red tie with small white things in the blue stripes (I never have figured out what they were supposed to be) caught my eye and I purchased the tie and two pocket squares. It was as I was leaving the shop that I passed some rows of women's suits and dresses on racks and mannequins. One was wearing a black skirt with what looked like an abstract design. On closer inspection the design was white chains following an endless path. The mannequin had on a white blouse that looked like a man's pleated tuxedo shirt and a red and black scarf was tied around the neck. I looked at it for a bit wondering if Juliette or Corrita would wear this. Normally when I needed to describe clothing I just picked out outfits from the advertisements in the Sunday Times or what I saw in Spanish magazines. "Can I help you sir?" I started from my reverie and noticed that a young woman was looking at me. I stuttered for a second. "I was thinking that my girlfriend would like that skirt and scarf." "What size is she?" I smiled and said that I hadn't the slightest idea. "Corrita has never discussed her size except to say that we both need to lose some weight." My mind tilted back and forth and for a moment I was almost dizzy. Corrita wasn't real and yet I was talking about her as if we spent time together. "How tall is she?" I decided to play along with the salesgirl and told her that Corrita was a little taller than me and about 150 lbs "though she'd never admit it". We laughed together and the sales girl assured me that Corrita could return the skirt. I also bought the scarf and had them wrap the box. Then with my tie and pocket squares and the skirt and scarf I slowly made my way downtown. The streets had cleared a bit so I could get a rhythm to my walk and enjoyed myself as I looked at the people I passed. Briefly I stood next to a very conservatively dressed man on the corner. He looked at me in my suit and we gave each other a quick smile. Two well dressed men on a warm fall evening but he didn't know I had red toenails, polished finger nails and was carrying a skirt and a scarf for a fictitious Hispanic woman named Coritta. The light changed and we parted ways. Back at the apartment I scrambled through the fridge and not wanting to spend the time cooking just grabbed some fruit and cheese. I poured a glass of wine and ate while I went through the mail and listened to messages. I quickly put the dishes away wanting to get to work. Then I went into the bedroom to change. I hung up the suit and tossed the shirt into the pile of clothes for the cleaners. It was only while I was pulling on a polo shirt that I noticed I had also put on the brassiere. I flopped down on the bed. "Oh God. What am I doing?" I struggled to get the bra off only getting more entangled because I had the shirt partly on. I tossed it to the side. "Sam damn it. Get a grip." I walked around the bedroom then went out to start working on chapter 3. As with the earlier evening nothing flowed and I just sat and tried to be imaginative. Finally I gave up and went pack into the bedroom and put on the bra. This time I took a moment or two and selected a couple of pairs of thin socks. I filled the cups and pulled on the shirt and sat and worked for a while. While reading the third chapter I thought about my purchase. A couple of times I tried to force myself back to work but I kept thinking about the brightly wrapped box. I was almost in a dream as I pulled the paper off the box and standing in front of my bedroom mirror pulled on the skirt. It had an elastic waist and two buttons in the back and I looked at myself. I felt disappointed. I looked like an overweight man in a skirt. I took off my polo shirt and pulling a cardboard cleaner's box from my closet I took out and unfolded my tuxedo shirt. It was plain white with six simple pleats. I put it on and looked at myself again. That was better. I took out the pantyhose and pulled them on and tied the scarf around my neck. I went into the bathroom and tried brushing my hair in different ways. I went back out and put on the dress pumps I wore with the tuxedo and stood in front of the mirror once again. I looked at myself talking quietly, commenting on the bosom, the fall of the skirt, the need for better shoes and then I stopped and sat on the bed and almost broke into tears. I had been speaking in Spanish. I had said to myself "You know Corrita chica, if you want to dress well you're going to have to cut out those big meals." I got up and washed my face and sat in the living room. I noticed I hadn't drawn the blinds but just said "oh fuck it" and went on sitting. I tried to calm my thoughts but a part of me wanted to get back to work and I went to the table and plowed into the fourth chapter taking Juliette from her Queens apartment to the Roatan peninsula in Honduras. When I had her safely ensconced in her room changing clothes I reached the passage wear she put on her bra while staring at the waters and gasped when I found myself stroking the bra through the fabric of the shirt. I got up and put the clothes away and showered and shaved and wearing sweats went back out and grabbed the phone dialing Kate's apartment. After a few rings the answering machine picked up. I cursed and tried her cell phone but got the away message. I hate leaving messages but went ahead. "Hi Kate, it's Sam. Please call when you have a chance. I need to speak to you. Don't worry about the time I think I'll be up." I put down the phone and went and poured myself a beer. Then I stood in front of the window and sipped. Looking down I saw my red toenails and slamming the glass down on the windowsill went into the bathroom and removed the polish from the toes and fingers. I was just picking up the beer again when my phone rang. "Hello, Mr. Haber. Ms. Donohue is in the lobby can she come up?' "Yes." Bless Kate. She hadn't called. She must have heard the urgency and come straight over. It wasn't that late. I looked around the rooms wildly making sure that nothing out of place could be seen and was turning on the exhaust fan in the bathroom when the doorbell rung. I barely opened the door when Kate came in. She looked at my face and gave me a big hug. I was shocked because Kate is not a touchy feely type person. I hugged I her back grateful for the moment of contact. Then Kate pulled me into the living room and looked at me. "What's wrong Sam? You look like you've seen a ghost or someone died." I just stood there staring at her trying to figure out where to start. "It's Corrita." Then the words started to flow. I told Kate about the trying on the brassiere again and the polish and not being able to write without them. I told her about the skirt. I just broke down and talked and talked. Somewhere in the midst of my talking Kate must have gotten up because when I caught my breath I saw she had brought me tissues, a beer and found some wine for herself. I looked at the tissues and realized I was crying. "Kate what have a gotten myself into?" Kate just sipped her wine and looked at me. "Sam I can't tell you. I do know that nothing you've told me seems that strange other than your over reaction to dressing in women's clothes." "I'm not gay." "I didn't say you were. I didn't even say you get some thrill from dressing up. I just said it isn't all that weird or strange. You did say that you write much better as Corrita." "I did?" "Uh huh. You said "when I'm Corrita the words just seem to flow and new ideas come so fast it's hard to get everything down" I may not have the exact words, but that's the gist." "I'm not Corrita. She's a name I made up." "Maybe you have a bit of Corrita in you. Helen said you had a real feel for what women want to read in a romance novel." We sat and sipped for a while. Occasionally I blew my nose. Kate wandered over to the table and looking at the computer screen started reading the first few chapters of The Rialto Girls. After a bit I went and refilled her glass and put my glass in the sink. Idly I did little chores to pass the time and avoid talking. The Kate called to me. "Sam. This is so much better. I am not sure if you can see it because you are too close to it. This is head and shoulders more convincing. When did you say you'd have a draft back to Helen." "I didn't. I said I had to show the contract to an attorney and I left it with one last week. We'll meet about it tomorrow and then I'll talk to Helen." "Can I see your new skirt?" "No!" Kate looked shocked at my reaction. "First it is not my new skirt. I don't have any others. I don't know why I bought it. If you weren't so thin I'd give it to you." Kate came over and kissed me on the cheek. "Sam. I am not judgmental. You know that. I just wanted to look at the skirt." I pointed to the box and Kate pulled the skirt out and held it up. "You have a good eye." I just grunted. "Please Sam. I think it would help me understand what is going on." She tossed the skirt at me. I went into the bedroom, closed the door and sat down on the bed. I thought about it for a moment. "If you are going to do something then do it well." I eased the pantyhose on and followed them with the brassier. Then I carefully filled the cups with the socks and pulled on the pleated shirt. The skirt and formal pumps followed. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were a bit puffy and I certainly did not look happy but it was the best I could do. I stepped out of the room and faced Kate. "Holy shit." "What?" Kate just stared at me. "She was right. Oh wow. She was right." ""Who?. Kate you're not helping me here." "Arleen; remember the model who thought you were some kind of butch lesbian." I thought back and remembered the conversation. "Oh honey. You can't see it and you look miserable at the moment but I can really see what that dumb bitch saw. I know you're going to laugh but Corrita, whether you like it or not, Corrita is a died-in-the-wool, butch lesbian." I just stood there with my mouth open. Kate circled me. When she came around in front of me again she poked one fake breast and giggled. "That is the most unappealing lump I have ever seen or felt." "I wasn't trying to be pretty." Kate pulled me over to the couch. "Corrita spill it. Who are you and what are your dreams." "Kate I'm Sam, I am not..." "Shush. I want to talk to Corrita the next great Hispanic romance novelist. Tell me all about yourself." We talked. Or more to the point Corrita and Kate talked. My author's mind filled in the gaps in Corrita's life. And when we ran out of things to say I had a full biography for Corrita and she had become truly alive. I, Sam Haber, on the other hand had become truly frightened. I just stared down into the depths of an empty glass. I thought to myself it's so late. I have to get up in less than five hours. I don't have anything pressing at work. I'll call in sick and work on the book and at 4:30 I would go to see that attorney. I realized that Kate had been speaking and I hadn't paid any attention. "Sorry Kate, what were you saying?" "I asked it I could stay over. It is almost 2:30 and if you haven't noticed it's raining." "Yeah sure, the couch pulls out." Kate smiled. "Sam can I say something and not have you get angry because I mean it in a nice way." I nodded fearing what she would say. "I'm not into men. In fact they scare me. Being with you has always been like being with a girlfriend. I like you for all your cynical, critical ways because you really listen to people. I wouldn't be able to stay overnight with any other man. I am not saying you're not a man, but it feels OK. Maybe it's because I can sense that Corrita has always been somewhere inside of you. Chapter 6: Making Up With Kate I like attorneys. Other people complain about them and their rates and the lack of clear answers but I have always felt a kinship. Attorneys know that nothing is crystal clear. They know the written word needs interpretation. They understand that solutions sometimes must be convoluted. I sat with Todd Altschul in his office. I kept feeling guilty about calling into work sick but it was the first day I had missed in over a year so I knew no one would question me. Todd had looked over my contract and my list of questions and together we hacked out a set of demands to present to the publishers. Todd emphasized my need as a new author to get published even if the first few books were under a less than perfect contract. I emphasized the need for privacy. He promised a revised contract in my e-mail by Monday afternoon and we parted agreeing to have a drink together at some point. When I got home I looked at my table. The day had been productive and I had rewritten chapters five through eleven and had eight more to go. I felt more relaxed wearing the brassiere all day long. I stumbled over some writing about make up but was not going to go and buy any. I'd call Kate and ask her for help. I sat and tried to decide where to go and eat. The corner bar and grill was beckoning and the Mets would be on. As I sat at the bar I sipped a beer and ate a chicken breast sandwich. Normally I'd have two or three beers and a burger with fries but I reminded myself about losing weight and ate and drank slowly. When the bartender asked if I wanted another beer I ordered a coffee and sipped it while I watched the Mets blow a three run lead. It was still early and the rain had cleared so I just wandered slowly working my way downtown. I stopped and looked in the windows of a used clothing store that offered period costumes and went in. The bell tinkled as the door swung and someone shouted from the back "just a moment." I looked around at clothes of every type and age. I heard steps behind me and turned to see a young man dressed as though he were trying to be the most clich?d young metropolitan homosexual in the city. He gave me a big smile. "Now what can I sell to you? Are you looking for something special or just peeking in my little shop?" I don't know what came over me. I just smiled back and said I was looking for a night gown; nothing too sexy or sheer, just a nice night gown. "Would this be for a present or are you shopping for yourself?" It never occurred to me that some one would ask that question out loud as if this was a normal event. I just stared at him. The shop keeper giggled. "OK, it's for you. That's fine. I have a couple of cotton nighties that would look perfect on you. Let' see you are just between a petite and a woman's size but in a nightgown longer can be better. Hmmm. OK I'm guessing a size 12 or 14, you should lose a little weight you know my dear." And he rambled on as he wove his way (he didn't walk) pulling garments off the racks and putting them back on until he handed me two light cotton nightgowns. He pushed me toward the back and showed me the dressing room. Then turning on the light and shutting the door he left me alone. I had to sit down because I was breathing hard and laughing at the same time. Finally I took off my jacket. First I tried to guess just by holding the garments against me but in the end I stripped to my underwear and tried them both on. I looked at myself in the mirror and the feeling of disappointment came up again but I checked the price tags, got dressed and told the man that I'd take both. I paid in cash. I kept wandering ending back at my apartment around 11:00. I checked my mail and messages and showered and then looked at the shopping bag. "Oh why not, I bought them didn't I?" I laid the two nightgowns on the bed. One was a bit shorter than knee length and had a high square neck, short sleeves and a little bit of extra stitching at what would have been bust level for a woman. It was white with small red dots. The second was almost ankle length, long sleeved with bits of lace here and there. That one was pure white. I chose the shorter nightie and hung the other up in my closet. Normally I sleep naked but now I felt as though I needed something on below the gown. I grabbed a pair of briefs from the drawer and pulled the nightgown on. Then I slid into bed with a magazine and felt the gown slide up, bunch underneath me and it became uncomfortable. I pulled it down and smoothed things out. I read until my eyes grew tired and turning off the light slept. My dreams that night were odd, with me trying to find lost files in the office but being distracted because even though I was in the same light grey man's suit, I had breasts and my fingers were painted with red polish. A woman, I think it was Jessica, kept making comments about what I should be doing next such as wearing make up or heels. From there the dream changed to me driving a car while someone in the back seat kept shouting about pieces falling off. It ended with me trying to make a cup of coffee but not being able to find the beans. As I said a lot of my dreams are just random thoughts. I had breakfast in the nightgown and then dressed for work wearing the new tie. At lunch I'd call Helen and tell her some of our thoughts about the contract and how well the rewrite was coming. Then I'd ask Kate if she could help me with some questions about make up. The day looked good. People at work came by to ask if I was OK and I pleaded a hangover from a bad sinus headache. A month ago no one would have asked. Now I was friendlier and spoke in nicer tones. I looked around my cubicle and thought about bringing in a small poster I had of the fort in Puerto Rico. The hours passed and I found a quiet corner and called Helen. Helen and I talked for a while. She didn't seemed surprised about the changes Todd Altschul wanted to make to the contract and was pleased to hear I was making good progress on The Rialto Girls. I agreed to send it in for copyright protection and then e-mail her a draft as soon as I was finished. Getting back to my desk I looked at a message written on a post-it note and placed on my phone. "OK Mr. Fields wants to see me at 2:15 but doesn't say about what." I felt the old flash of irritation but one can't change overnight. When it was time I grabbed a pad and walked over ending up in a meeting that lasted until 5:30 discussing investing in Argentina. For a while I couldn't figure out why I was in the room until someone asked me the meaning of a phrase in Spanish. Ah, I was the Latin America expert today. When the meeting was over a number of the staff went out for a drink. In the past I would have not gone but this time I went and spent an enjoyable hour gossiping about sports, office politics and future vacations. I ended up sitting with Ms. Simmons, a formidable senior manager, and a dreary young woman from Personnel. They talked about possible vacation places and I told them about Puerto Rico and Baja California. Mostly I sat back and listened as they discussed the type of clothing they took when traveling and other subjects. "You must be bored Sam" said Ms. Simmons. "Well, actually I'm just relaxing." The dreary young thing tried to change the subject to something more inclusive but I just let the words flow over me and finally excused myself and headed back home. Kate had left a message, just checking up on me. Mike wanted to know if I would join him and some friends for bowling. My aunt (and only living older relative) called to say hi. The mail was unimportant. I sat and nibbled on an apple. I did not feel like working that evening and the TV beckoned. I turned it on and looked at the Spanish language channels until I found a variety show. I half listened to it as I changed from my work clothes into my running suit and then leafed through a magazine as comics chased nubile women across the screen, acrobats ju