’ Joyce replied, unable to maintain eye contact, blushing. ‘Focus.’ He said. And she knew why she had come. Her thoughts focused at his suggesti...n, the fog lifting, her purpose clear. Joyce approached, leaving her purse on the floor as she strode toward the coffee table. She stopped, pulling her sweater off over her head, her arms. Calm, steady, her hands worked at her pants, buttons, and zipper. Cream, professional, straight cut pants now bunching around her thighs as she pushed them down,. "My father died when I was young. He kept aliqour cabinet in his office, so I didn't need to lie to get into anybars or anything. My mother came into that office one day and found meon the floor, drunk out of my mind, and didn't say a word. She didn'ttalk to me for days, until I'd sobered up." He sighed. "That was thelast time I ever took a drink."He looked down at her. "Sorry, Mr. Cabot, if this story was supposed tomake me stop drinking, the ball landed way south of the goal, becauseI'm still. More

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