CLAIRE FISHER'S APARTMENT
The real world.
Claire
had almost forgotten that
it existed in the last few hours. After a quiet dinner and some TV time,
she put the kids to bed early and wrapped herself up on the couch in a
book. It has been holding her captive ever since, drawing her into its
pages and away from her world.
The escape has been a welcome one.
The hours she has spent lost in the lines of print have been a gift --
one that is suddenly being retracted.
Placing the book, open and pages
facing down, on the couch, she rises with a heavy sigh to go answer the
door. Who the hell would it be at this hour, anyway?
The answer is ridiculouly obvious
as soon as she opens the door.
Of course: Diane.
"Hi," Diane says, sounding almost
apologetic.
"Hi," Claire says curtly. "What are
you doing here?"
"I have a favor to ask you," Diane
announces as she lets herself inside the apartment.
Claire makes no effort to keep her
out, but she doesn't step aside to get out of the way, either. "You do
realize how late it is, don't you?"
"Yeah ..." Diane's response is borderline
sarcastic, as if to say, Of course it's late. What's so weird about
that? "But it's important."
"Look, if you're here to make some
more demands or ream me out--"
"I'm not. I promise. I just have
a simple request."
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