Secret Lives of Dresses, No. 2

She was alone at the hotel bar, as well as she was smoking, neither of which I think she’d ever done before. She didn’t smoke alone, as well as she didn’t sit at hotel bars. as well as she was drinking, too. Smoking without a cigarette holder, smoking the bar cigarettes as well as not her own, drinking straight gin as well as not martinis. Her silver minaudire was open in her lap, as well as she kept taking a look at the scrap of paper sticking out of it. It said “Ambassador Hotel, 7:30.”

It was 7:35 now.

From where we were we might see the front entrance of the hotel, as well as she didn’t take her eyes from it. even so, I saw him first, as well as then I knew why we were there, alone.

Five strides, her heels striking difficult on the floor. The drink in his face, followed by the glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come house tonight,” she said. He looked green. “I’m altering the locks. The lawyers will call you in the morning.” A look at the floozy on his arm–definitely a floozy, in a lamé gown as well as a poor wave. “He doesn’t have any type of money, you know. It’s all mine. poor luck for you.”

The bartender had her bag as well as a sympathetic look. “That last drink was on the house,” he said, as well as she almost smiled.

The driver was waiting. He steadfastly pretended she wasn’t crying. “Home, ma’am?”

When we got home, the house maid took me from her as well as I was brushed as well as aired, since I smelled awfully of smoke.

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