Chapter 21

           Ikeptgettinglettersfromaladywholivedonlyamileorsoaway.ShesignedthemNicole.Shesaidshehadreadsomeofmybooksandlikedthem.Iansweredoneofherlettersandsherespondedwithaninvitationtovisit.Oneafternoon,withoutsayinganythingtoLydia,IgotintotheVolksanddroveonover.Shehadaflatoveradrycleaner’sonSantaMonicaBoulevard.HerdoorwasonthestreetandIcouldseeastairwaythroughtheglass.Irangthebell."Whoisit?"cameawoman’svoicethroughalittletinspeaker."I’mChinaski,"Isaid.AbuzzersoundedandIpushedthedooropen.

           Nicolestoodatthetopofthestairslookingdownatme.Shehadacultured,almosttragicfaceandworealonggreenhousedresscutlowinfront.Herbodyseemedtobeverygood.Shelookedatmewithlargedarkbrowneyes.Therewerelotsoftinywrinklesaroundhereyes,perhapsfromtoomuchdrinkingorcrying.

           "Areyoualone?"Iasked.

           "Yes,"shesmiled,"comeonup."

           Iwentup.Itwasspacious,twobedrooms,withverylittlefurniture.Inoticedasmallbookcaseandarackofclassicalrecords.Isatonthecouch.Shesatnexttome."Ijustfinished,"shesaid,"readingTheLifeofPicasso."

           TherewereseveralcopiesofTheNewYorkeronthecoffeetable.

           "CanIfixyousometea?"Nicoleasked.

           "I’llgooutandgetsomethingtodrink."

           "That’snotnecessary.Ihavesomething."

           "What?"

           "Somegoodredwine?"

           "I’dlikesome,"Isaid.

           Nicolegotupandwalkedintothekitchen.Iwatchedhermove.

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