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Show Woodworth/190 "My name is Warren," he says. His hands are pink, scrubbed. Fingernaisl manicured. He has a gold band around one wrist. "Marty," she says. "Glad to meet you." What do you do? Do you come here often? The lines run through her head. "Can I buy you a drink?" He points to her half-empty glass. She nods. Her third. It's important to count, remember. He leans forward, arms folded on table. His face is pink, scrubbed, too. A slippery film of sweat on his upper lip. Nature tells your secrets in the end. His hair is combed,so perfectly. She can almost see permanent prints from comb's teeth. "You come here often?" he asks. His lips curl back from his teeth when he talks. "Never been here before in my life," she responds, and they are off, swapping line for line, movement for gesture, boueyed by the endless train of drinks. Some time is passing. She is aware of it only in terms of how much longer they have until a decision must be made, a cross-road reached. "I'm back," Rachael says. Marty looks up at her. The movement makes*her dizzy.. Got drunk somehow. Too drunk. Rachael's timing is bad. There is too much to sort out about this Warren. And Rachael. And what she's supposed to do next. "I picked up this incredibly sexy chick just cruising around this bar," a familiar voice says behind Rachael. Who? She can't see. As if he's hiding behind Rachael. Who is it? Her mind struggles at a grey place, like a fur ball. "And I can't believe my luck. She was unattached." Marty looks at Warren, thinking it must be a friend of his. Warren's pink face has clouded. Rachael's face is dark, too, staring down at her. Everyone seems angry, frightened. Her mind struggles. What's she supposed to |