After finishing my work at the pool, I went over to the office to see if I could talk to Mr. or Mrs. S about buying a new drain snake to replace one that had become hopelessly tangled and unwound. Trudy, the Assistant Manager, was in the office that day. She told me to check with the Simonsons at their apartment. So I walked down to their apartment and rang the bell. Mrs. S called out “Who is it?”
“Just me Mrs. S.”
“Come on in, Jimmy.”
I let myself in. The air conditioner was on. Mrs. S and her friend, Kathy Lewis, were sitting on the living room couch, smoking cigarettes, watching TV soap operas, and reading magazines. Both of them were dressed in shorts and tee shirts with bare feet. Mrs. Lewis was in her late fifties, wore glasses, and was a bottle brunette, with her hair in a ponytail. In contrast to Mrs. S, Mrs. Lewis was very skinny. They both appeared to be more than a little bit inebriated, as they each were working on a Bloody Mary, and a pitcher that had once been filled with the mix was near empty. They were having a wonderful time, chattering incessantly and loudly, as drunken people will.
