Yeah, that would tend to make me bitter too. Suddenly, getting drunk didn't seem like such a good idea.I said, "Donna, go get us a couple soft drinks ...ut of the fridge and come join me on the lounger. We can cuddle and talk."About eight that evening, that was the way Connie found us; rubbing noses and sharing secrets like moms and daughters should. I'd lost one daughter through no fault of my own, and I'd be damned if it was going to happen again.Donna said her goodnights shortly after Connie. “This poetry is not about me. The important thing is that you can identify with her pain, and most women can.”“Men can too, but I feel she was too messed up with to begin with.”She sighed again, and Claude knew he was out of line, but at the same time he couldn’t understand why Amanda was traveling the same route. Sylvia might as well have been a horror writer.“There’s a complexity that you’re not investigating,” she said. “It’s not good enough to say that she’s messed up when you fail to. He warm hand covered it. Gently applying a little pressure. Rubbing ever so slightly up and down.My hand, resting near her stocking clad leg on the seat, shuffled a little in her direction. Touching the nylon. She didn't react, so I moved it a little closer. Sliding my hand under her skirt to the top of her stockings. Stroking gently back and forth. My hand hit the bare, warm flesh above the stocking, and I looked around the carriage. No one was paying attention. So I moved more boldy. My hand. I really do. How did you find the playwright? He’s a genius.’ His smile deepens. ‘Really? That good, huh?’ She nods emphatically. ‘That good. I think I’d kiss anybody for a shot at it.’ Her tone is teasing. ‘That’s good to know, Lauren. I found the playwright after I met you.’ ‘After you left me, then?’ ‘Yes, after that. I was inspired to do some soul searching.’ ‘Really.’ She sounds unconvinced. ‘It’s a good thing you found an amazing soul to search. The play’s a gem.’ ‘I’m glad you think so..