I remembered coming back here with Rebecca in the morning, despite her playful protestations about breaking her perfect attendance record. She had been wide awake, having spent most of the night snoozing in my office, but I needed to hit the hay.I wandered out into the combination living room/kitchen of my tiny one-bedroom apartment. Rebecca sat there in the same clothes she had worn yesterday (and for who knows how many days before then), watching the 6 o'clock news while digging into a bag of no-name cheese puffs that had been sitting on top of my fridge for a couple weeks. "Hey, have a good afternoon's sleep?"I shrugged. "The usual." I had a shower and some of your food. Hope you don't mind."I shrugged again. It was all I could do this closely removed from sleep. Having made sure Rebecca hadn't burnt the place down, I went to the bathroom for my usual start-of-day routine. It was pure basics, not like the elaborate make-up rituals some of my girlfriends did. Had done, I supposed,. Vangie paid less than no attention to football or football games but Ed had said something about a special interest in this one. The party was at a friend's duplex apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Fortunately, Vangie found that most of the other women there shared her total lack of interest in the game so they were talking about the latest around-town gossip and decrying the state of the Broadway theater when she heard her name called.Carrying her drink, she found herself in front of a television set with a woman with whom she had a nodding acquaintance, Carrie Smith. Carrie asked, "Vangie, don't you have a daughter named Catherine?"Vangie shook her head and said, "I used to. Why do you ask?"Pointing to the television screen Carrie asked, "Is that her?"Vangie looked and almost dropped her drink. She didn't recognize Bob Costas, of course, but there was Cathy on national television. At a glance she thought how beautiful Cathy looked in the green and tan. Her eye even.
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