Iwaited at the gate to be collected with the other girls holding aPolaroid picture of myself painting that was a souvenir of theafternoon. I looked at...myself in the picture and at the othergirls sitting near me. They looked younger than me but only just.I swallowed deeply feeling so helpless and exposed. The othergirls would have pictures of themselves with me in the frame.More and more people were seeing me and having images of me asLucy.The car drew up at the curb. The smiling faces of. I am sorry.’ ‘But that’s bullshit. I owned the company. I never punched the clock. Some days I would work eighteen or twenty hours straight, then I would go home for a break and some rest before I returned to work. Hell, the last three weeks I spent almost all night in the office to meet that assholes deadline for our new program.’ ‘Do you deny coming in late and leaving early some days? I have signed statements from Mr. Tarkington, the business manager, and the sales manager on several. ) One Sunday, one of them caught my eye. It read, “Antoinette Dellasandro, 85, widow of the late Mario Dellasandro, survived by a daughter, Dierdre.” It brought me back to when I was a teenager. It was the spring of ’66 and I was halfway through my senior year of high school when it finally happened. I was neither a great student nor a great athlete. No one applying to Harvard had to worry about me taking their place in the class of 1970, and the state cross country record books were in no. By the time I got out of the shower, they had a nice terrycloth robe waiting for me and a big-ass bowl of ice cream and I sat on the couch and enjoyed the hell out of that while Darrel gave me a foot rub. Malcolm offered to take me home if I wanted, but I spent the night there in his bed before he gave me a ride back home on Thanksgiving morning, letting my borrow one of his hoodie sweatshirts (which basically covered my entire body) in lieu of my cum-stained dress from the previous night. By.