To them, a paparazzi incident was just another night in New York.But it had been a big deal to me. Just one more bad experience to cap off one of the worst nights of my life. My heart was racing, memories of Cameron shooting herself and nightmares of Elyse dying a fiery death were invading my mind, and Adrienne STILL didn't understand why the fuck I was so mad.I HATED this town.And I wanted to go HOME.I took a shower by myself and she didn't interrupt me. Alternating the water temperature between refreshingly cold and skin-scrubbing hot did wonders for my mood, as if cleansing my body could also cleanse me of the emotional anguish running through my veins.I knew who I was again. I knew who I was with. And I knew why I was here. The blind rage had circled down the drain. The imaginary cotton that plugged my ears had gone down with it. And I'd already flushed a good chunk of the alcohol in my system down the toilet as well, so when I finally returned to the bedroom wearing nothing but. She even remade the bed when my skills did not meet with her approval. She was not about to let a guest think that she was not a skilled housekeeper. She only let me work at the kitchen because she knew I loved to cook Ð that and the fact that I owned it.I cut up some vegetables and fruits for a platter, cooked some rice for the red beans and put together some chicken salad from a freshly roasted hen I bought the day before. Next, I made fresh limeade, put some beer and soda on ice along with a bottle of white rum in case mojitos were desired.As I was finishing I heard Anita put some Reggaeton music on, not my favorite but popular with younger crowd. It did have a good beat and soon Anita and I were laughing and dancing throughout the living room.We were so involved that neither one of were aware that Kathy had arrived and was watching the show. Thank goodness we kept to just dancing, nevertheless we both jumped when she started clapping between songs. It was not until we turned down.
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