CHAPTER 93

OLIVIA.

Mrs. Violet Graterol reminded me of my mother and her friends when they got together to chat.

She was a tall, elegant woman, with shoulder-length auburn hair, with an incredible complexion that I wish I had at her age. Milky white skin, wearing subdued makeup, combining copper and beige shades. She was wearing that night a nightgown and pants set of thick, luxurious fabric, loose-fitting garments, of a similar shade to her hair.

When we arrived at the beautiful, spacious kitchen of that apartment, I sat down at her invitation in one of the lovely high chairs that lined the marble countertop.

There I realized that in that house they liked to talk while having a drink or two since Mrs. Violet served me a different drink than the one we were sharing in the living room. I gladly accepted, why not? The same glass, another wine. This time, some white wine for a change.

She asked me about my work and believed from the beginning when I told her what I did for a living, that Carl and I