NICKI said. “I hitchhiked here.” “Through a driving rain just to be at my side?” “Something like that.” There was a cigarette dangling from her lips, and behind her, down a long hall, I could see the bar, and a red neon sign that said “This Bud’s For You!” … A couple of Siamese cats scurried past me. “Come this way,” she said. “That’s Three, Six, and Nine who just went by. They were Mom’s cats. My Siamese is named Scatter.” We made a right turn down the lobby, past Annabel’s Resale Shop, Nicki walking ahead of me. She had on a pair of black stirrup pants and a huge gold sweater the color of her hair, black Capezios, and in her right ear two black plastic circle earrings. “I’ll dry your hair in my room,” she said. “They’re about to watch the game in the bar.” “My hair will dry.” “I want to dry it with my blower. You’ll look less like a water rat. Do you ever blow-dry your hair?” “Of course not.” “Of course not,” she said. “You don’t know what to do with yourself.
