21
MAY 3, 1996—CAZENOVIA, NEW YORK (9 MONTHS LATER)I’m in my office downtown, wrapping up dictation from this morning’s session. I’ll be cutting out early today, because i***t Boy here, forgot to put my tux in the car to be dry-cleaned for tomorrow night’s gala at the Cavalry Country Club for Monie’s parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Monie’s pulled out all the stops for it.
Grabbing my satchel, I lock up and run to my car. I’m driving a Mercedes Benz these days, courtesy of Joe and Sophie, who determined the son-in-law doctor in the family needed a more appropriate ride to fit the status. I could care less what I’m driving, but I gave in to their generosity.
It’s funny how it is that I have all the things I used to care about back in my old life, and yet, I don’t care about them an
