New job. New men. New sensation of having my fantasies slowly come true. Or maybe not all that slowly … Pleasure was difficult to get used to at first. I’d grown accustomed to having Byron angry with me most of the time. Of having to constantly regain those points I was forever losing. When I was living with Byron, I had learned not to speak my mind. But now I didn’t have to hide. At work I made sure to look people in the eye, to be bold, and quickly I found myself gaining new friends. At home, once Lois had moved out, I spent my time redecorating her room—the candy-pink walls made me feel as if I were living in a bottle of Pepto. I painted at night and searched for flea-market finds on the weekends. No angels for me. Gargoyles are much more my speed. And then there was my writing. Lois had taken her typewriter with her. But Nate said not to worry. “Can’t use a typewriter, anyway, Samantha,” he told me. “You need a computer.” “Lots of famous people have relied on typewriters,”
