But this someone maybe won’t even be your second, or fifth, or even tenth.”
I sat there listening to her. Realising the question was aimed at her, Heather froze. XXX I hear you’re real good with numbers,” she said, staring at me as she chewed on her buttered toast. Something that I would forget in the moment but remember as the years passed. There we go. For the new guy, you sure know how to ring my bell.”
Her name was Victoria. “Really?” she asked, “What’s his name?”
“Or hers,” peeped up a doughty lady by the name of Cooky (seriously) who had her multi-colored braided hair piled up on the top of her head like a punch drunk pineapple. Least I don’t think you do. The new girls asking me various things about what went on upstairs and what my responsibilities were as head chief of the tenth floor as the others listened.
