She was methodically sorting the cards and then clipping them to the typed pages they outlined. A casual observer witnessing her apparent concentration would not have guessed her inner turmoil. Paula entered the room and displayed her hand like a model on television selling dishwashing lotion. “How do you like it?” she asked. “Mango frappe.” Cindy glanced at the iridescent orange nail polish and nodded. “It’s very... shiny.” “Not to mention seductive, long wearing, and non chip,” Paula added dryly, quoting from the sales copy. She watched Cindy bite the cap of her pen, holding it between her teeth and nibbling at it like a ferret. “Is that what you do instead of smoking?” she asked. Cindy looked at her uncomprehendingly. “What?” “Never mind. I take it you haven’t heard from him.” Cindy shook her head. “You have nothing to add?” Paula probed. Cindy shrugged. “What is there to say? I have no claim on him; he doesn’t have to report to me daily as if I were his mother.
