Yet another wintry sky blotted the horizon and made the thought of taking ageing bones along with a younger woman's mind to the South Seas.
Malaria?
Crocodiles?
Oh dear. The Hawaii Hilton perhaps and don't go outdoors except to ride in a cab to a restaurant for a lonely meal or brighten the day for the eighth day running by trolling through Ala Moana Center for something not sighted previously. Oh yawn.
Maggie McPherson was sure this episode of her favorite soap was being mistakenly re-run again – it looked so familiar. But then again didn't all episodes look familiar? She thought of booking in at the hairdresser's but they probably would say they had nothing available for another fortnight because they knew she'd only been there yesterday.
It would be a wet day, which was a pity. Everyone would be calling a real estate office and asking to be shown homes for sale so it was little use her calling. Anyway, for some reason her calls were cut as soon as she said Maggie McPherson calling.
The phone rang.
"Oh halleluiah!" she smiled, waltzing to the phone and neatly pirouetting around the sleeping Sabetha.
But that delight fast extinguished: "Hello-mom-are-you-okay?"
"Yes darling, I'm fine. What is the weather like over your..."
"Sorry-mom-must-dash-meeting-the-girlfriends-for-coffee."
Click.
The girls were so good calling her every morning to check that she'd made it through the night. Tim never called; too busy entertaining some slut into bed, the toad.
She poured some milk for Sabetha. Hello, the phone again – this would be another fifteen second breathless call.
"Hi mom. Puff-puff. Just out of bed. Phil the rat has been screwing me again when he knows he helped himself last night. Oooh, I do love Phil and his masterful control of me. You okay-good; the weather is piss awful over here. Bye."
Actually what cold-hearted Elizabeth said was: "(Yawn) You-okay-mum? Great. Bye."
Life had become so dismal that Maggie often thought of going to bed in her best clothes and not walking up but deciding what to wear was so damn difficult these days she usually was diverted before dressing for her final sleep. Twice she'd gotten into bed to sleep until death but decided she preferred other shoes and while up for that change of mind she had calls and forget her intent.
The phone caller had wanted to know her thoughts as head of the household on parents who didn't know where their children were at nights. "Oh, mine are probably safely screwing or doing their nails on the toilet wondering if they are pregnant this time," she'd said. The horrified woman had asked how old were Maggie's daughters and when Maggie said twenty-nine and thirty-two the bitch conducting the survey had said coldly, "Goodbye and thank you for wasting my time."
The caller at the door beautifully dressed had asked her for a donation for the church of something or rather but made no mention of salvation for her so she said frostily, "Not today – I don't donate on Tuesdays." He'd looked pleased and smirked saying that it was Thursday; she'd slammed the door, almost wrapping it around that smirk.
