Then, confident that all was secure, I took myself off to my bedroom up on the third floor. Upon my nightstand, a small glass of green tea sat steaming in a welcoming way, promising relaxation before sleep. Beside it, the evening newspaper, untouched until now, lay neatly folded; offering a measure of diversion from my own concerns. Had I wished for consideration of more weighty matters – not, I consider, a good idea when contemplating a night's sleep – a volume relating the analysis of no less than fifty instances of enhanced female sexual response as a result of stress-induced hysteria also awaited my attention.I contented myself with the green tea and the news in the paper of an extraordinary talent contest sponsored by the publisher whereby seeming unknowns from the streets of the metropolis were encouraged to imagine that they could somehow be transmuted into stars of the Music Hall overnight. I was considering penning a note to the editor expressing my views on the folly of this. Her psychiatrist condones her behavior and blames it on her childhood. She needs to change her behavior. Ergo, she needs to change her therapist. Today, I start my search to find a therapist who will do her some good. Did you make it to dinner with your father and his girlfriend last night?" Yes, except she isn't her girlfriend anymore. They broke up last night. I don't know the details." I lied to protect the not so innocent - me. I couldn't figure out how to explain Claire's checkered past without divulging my paranormal abilities, so I lied. "Dad, Barbie and I ended up eating pizza at our house. Dad was depressed. I was depressed. Barbie... well, Barbie was Barbie. We actually had a good time. Dad toasted your sense of family, Jason. You've won him over, lover."Click, click."That'll be Dad calling back. I told him I needed this line free for your call and hung up on him a few minutes ago." I'll let you go, and I'll call you later. I love you." I love you, too. Bye."Flash.
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