Caroline's Daughters: a Novel
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know of. But then as usual I haven’t talked to Sage. Or Ports. And Liza’s in Mexico.” “Whatever could Caroline be doing in Italy all this time?” “Having fun. Getting fat. Getting laid? I guess she could be.” “Honestly, Jill.” “I know, that’s all I think about. Well, actually it isn’t.” A pause. “I guess it’s up to me to do something about talking to Sage? Effecting a rapprochement?” “If you think so. I don’t know. Poor you.” “I’m going to AA next week, my first meeting. Everyone says it’s
non-existent tail held high, her long thin legs a little uncertain now. The other two cats are Burmese, sleek and plump and fairly stupid; Pink dislikes them both. Portia believes that Pink remembers and recognizes her, which could be true. Portia also believes in a curious kinship between herself and Mrs. Kaltenborn; they seem to inhabit each other, which is to say that the absent Mrs. Kaltenborn seems (to Portia) to be present in Pink. Pink is a combination of extreme crossness and an
makes her wonder, Should I go? She says, “I’ve never been to Israel. My father has, though. And he’s an old leftie. But not Jewish. A Texan.” “Actually I should not have said that Lebanese are niggers,” Hilda Daid contributes. “Actually we are more like Indians. Native Americans.” “My father’s been involved with Indian movements.” Portia relaxes, a little. Maybe it’s all right to stay and talk? Maybe Hilda enjoys it too, and does not have something else very pressing to do just now? “Does he
Fiona’s. While Fiona was upstairs fucking Roland Gallo, probably. “I saw you there at Stinson, the day you came after me,” she said to Noel. “Jesus, you did? Why didn’t you come out from wherever you were? Jesus, what a bitch!” “I didn’t feel like seeing you right then.” “But you do now?” “Now I really do. I told you.” “Well, just hold on for a couple of days. There’s some stuff I have to pull together. I’ll be out Tuesday night.” How like him to put her off for a while, Jill thinks.
rounding each one of them, and at last not quite making it. Over-confident Noel at the wheel. And then it occurs to Jill that there is absolutely nothing in the house to eat. All she has, she remembers, is some very fancy cigarettes that a man at work laid on her some time back (“Doctored—they’ve been through the Mayo Clinic,” said their donor). She had thought she and Noel might try them out, but let’s hope they don’t make us hungry, Jill adds to herself; this is not exactly blind-munchy time.