Chapter 1
I stare at the walls. Mauve. Not a bad choice for such a “fancy”
place. I pick up the Time sitting on the coffee table. It was out of place from
the other books that were on the table. Someone else has read this today, I think
to myself. My feet are trembling and my
heart beats faster than usual. I’m scared. This feeling isn’t foreign. It happens
and lasts until I give Cleo a chance to come out and do her thing.
I look down at my custom-made suit – a souvenir
from my last French lover. I search my memory banks for his name. Jacques or
Javier- one or the other I really can’t remember. It has been so long. That’s
what I tell myself. My very own alcohol-induced amnesia. Several bottles of red-wine,
another souvenir from the liaison, downed at the oddest hours can do that to
you. Or maybe it isn't the wine, maybe it was my strong will and desire to
forget that really led to this memory loss. I keep wondering about the root of
my “amnesia” until I’m drawn out of my reverie by the secretary; she wants me
to go in.
I get up and approach the door; my feet starts trembling
again as I draw nearer. I pause, take a moment to recompose myself. I look at
my reflection, Cleo looks back at me. She tells me “You can’t do it; you’re a
wuss; allow me take the lead”. I shut her out.
She’s not taking charge of this one. I look at my suit again; red does
work well with my skin-tone, and this nude Louboutin’s go so well with the
suit. I look great; I say to myself and proceed to march on to the office but
not before I see the scorching gaze of the secretary. She’s obviously not
pleased by my excessive cleavage. I glance at it – a gift from my Irish “companion”.
He liked his women “big”. I turn around and wink at the secretary. Oops that’s
not me. That’s Cleo.
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