Again. The last big bash of the summer. Another evening of frivolity at Hank Beckworth’s Ipswich cliffside manse, where inevitably, one of the happy...revelers would win the lottery. One day the winner would be Felicia herself, and she had hours upon hours to dread the possibility. In the meantime, she had to get herself as drunk as possible. She studied the empty margarita glasses, tried to sit up to reach the pitcher and salt, and fell back into the steamer chair with a groan, knowing she was. Her seamed stockings and shoes were of the same shade of red, as were her nails and lips. She wore a large golden butterfly broach, with little blue jewels on the tips of the antennae. Her earrings were long, gold, and had blue stones set in the pendants, which dangled just above her collar. She chatted with each of us and wished us all the very best in the future. She walked up and down the rows of desks as we talked and each time she passed by my chair, she would tap on the desktop, once,. More

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