Ants crawling all over a delicious morsel. That’s what they were like: the trainer, the cosmetologist (or whatever you call the person who fiddles with your skin), the masseuse, the seamstress, the housecleaners, the various assistants and, it would be fair to say, Drew herself, although she tried to suppress that notion while she greeted them at the door, motioned to chairs and fetched drinks. Drew carried her notebook with her, one finger squeezed in to mark the page of questions she wanted to ask Mae when there was time.
A large portion of this chapter has been deleted.
To read more, contact me and we can discuss publication. (!)
Hello there! Is this chapter as boring as I think it is? I’m trying to convey Drew’s irritation with this long fixation on the surface of things and I’m afraid I’ve overdone it. (Friends: Please excuse me if I seem rather quiet these days. I’m on vacation for two weeks at a spot on a river that has spotty internet connectivity. You’d think that meant more time to write but no, no at all.)