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Did I mention my legs? Sometimes I think my legs have a life of their own. Sometimes I eat a lot of cake to see if they’ll notice me. It doesn’t work. My legs go on doing their own beautifully defined thing. I beat the dress down with my hands. “I like your shoes,” he admired. “You like my shoes?” I asked, bewildered. “That’s it? My shoes?” I tell you, that’s the first man who’s ever liked me for my shoes. And they weren’t expensive shoes—they weren’t Manolo Blanhik or Prada. I bought them at a junk shop when I was a student. Very high, very pale yellow and very strappy. They went with the gown. “Are you married?” I asked. “No. But I could be. Are you good with children and dogs?” “Dogs?” But he had to go. He was in a hurry. He had more important matters to attend to, a plane to catch. I caught hold of his foot at the top of the ladder as it was about to disappear over the embankment. He turned to look at me strung out below. “My shoes,” I said again. I had taken them off for ease of. There were too many people thinking worried thoughts for me to home in on the house. We could only get a block away because so many people were blocking the road.One car was nearly filled with mercenaries. They had no idea what to do. There was a lot pressure on my mind from so people. The drug had kicked in and I was much more receptive now. Strattera helped but I tried to avoid it so I could build up some form of resistance. It was not happening now.Herb and Kim hurt too but we stayed to find those that had been in the house. We could find none of them.The pack arrived but couldn't get near. I said, "Brandon, Tatum, Dina, William, you guys stay here and see if any of them got away. We're going to get Emily."It took time to get out of the area. Fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars converged on the burning home. I had a chance to think about had happened. The servants had probably died. They were innocent and their deaths weighted on me. Again, my justification that the pack came.
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