"Does that mean you haven't bathed?"

"I guess not."

"We're going to change that."

"I don't feel like being clean."

"You'll feel better. Come on." She takes me by the arm and pulls me upstairs to my bathroom. She begins to run me a bath, pours in my favorite bubble bath. I sit on the toilet. "Stand up, Robin."

I do. She puts the seat cover down. "I see you've had a few, huh?"

"A girl's just gotta have fun, sometimes."

"Can you get out of those pajamas?"

I look down. Why are there so many buttons on this top?

"Don't worry about it. Where do you keep your hairbrush?"

I point to a drawer.

She gets it out, along with a scrunchie, and pulls my hair up into a ponytail. "Stand up, Robin." She unbuttons my top and pulls my bottoms down. I hold on to her shoulder for balance. She tests the water. "Go ahead, sweetie. Get in."

I do exactly that.

"This all makes sense, Robin. And mark my words, it'll be better soon."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because this is just a transition."

She hands me my sponge ball.

"It's bullshit. That's what this is, Savannah."

"I know. But you have a chance to start fresh."

"Fresh?"

"When we're in Paris. You can think about which direction you might want to explore."

"I'm not going to Paris with you, Savannah."

"Yes, you are." She flops down on the toilet seat a little too hard. I kind of chuckle.

"It was a nice gesture. And you know I appreciate it, but I really need to stay here and get my life together."

"Your life hasn't fallen apart, Robin. You just don't have a job. Where's Sparrow?"

"At midnight bowling."

"But it's not midnight."

"They start early."

"It sounds like fun."

"It is. It's more like a club. Neon lights. A DJ who plays nothing but hip-hop music. They dance and everything."

"Is it only for teenagers?"

"No."

"We should go."

"Not on the nights they go."

"We could start a night for us boomers."

"Do you know how to bowl?"

"Roll the ball down the middle of the lane and knock over the fucking pins. Duh."

This is funny. Savannah is a hoot sometimes. I'm glad she's here, glad she's my friend.

"I still like to dance. Don't you?" she asks.

"Speaking of dances."

"Don't go there. Please! Give it a rest or I'll get up from this toilet seat and drown your ass!"

"Okay, okay. How long were you planning on staying this evening?" I ask her.

"Until we work this out."

"Work what out?"

"Your future. Paris."

"I already said I'm not going, Savannah."

"But I invited you."

"I'm uninviting me."

"You should come anyway."

"Are you deaf? You should should go by yourself. Just the way you planned. I need to stay here and figure out what I'm going to do next." go by yourself. Just the way you planned. I need to stay here and figure out what I'm going to do next."

"Are you sure you won't come?"

"Not now. Another time."

"And that's your final answer?"

"That's it. And thank you for inviting me, Savannah."

"You're quite welcome."

She stands up. "All right, get your ass out of there. You should be sparkling clean. I didn't see you wash those ears! Where's a clean towel?"

"Open that cabinet. They're in there. You want some wine?"

"No thank you. And you're not having any more either."

She hands me the towel. I wrap it around myself.

"You're in good shape, Robin. I swear you make me want to exercise."

"You will when it's important enough to you."

"That would be like last year. Anyway, put on a pair of fresh pajamas and meet me downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am."

I do as I'm told. When I get downstairs, Savannah is helping herself to one of my Lean Cuisines. I sit at the table in the nook and cup my chin inside my hand. "It looks like I'm still unemployed."

"You know, Robin, let's get this over with, okay?"

"Okay."

"We all know you were tired of that boring-ass job and you'd reached that stupid glass ceiling, right?"

I nod.

"Think of this as a blessing."

"Please don't start with that blessing stuff. It's so lame."

"I'll put it this way. You have no idea what opportunities might be out there waiting for you to seize them."

"That's another one! Have you started going back to church again?"

"Shut up, Robin. No. Although it's not a bad idea."

"I don't know how to handle this, okay? I've never been unemployed before."

"You have a degree in business. You also have something most people who lose their jobs don't have. Backup funds."

"I don't think about that money because it's for when I'm older."

"And when does that start?"

"I need some new skills. The kind that are marketable."

"Then go back to school and get some."

"I'm too old to go back to college, Savannah."

"That is the biggest crock of shit I've heard in a long time. Too old to learn?"

"What would I look like sitting in a classroom with kids fresh out of high school?"

"Times have changed, Robin. Interspersed in most of those classes are students of all ages and backgrounds. There's a lot of people who've decided to change lanes, even after years of being successful. You tell me where it's written that you have to be eighteen to get into college?"

"You've got a point. I don't think I'd feel right."

"Then you should think about what Gloria suggested."

"You mean opening my own consignment shop?"

"I looked it up. Check your in-box for a change. There's more than fifteen thousand of them all over the United States. That should tell you something. You'd be your own boss. Blah blah blah. I'm not trying to do a hard sell, but it sounds like it's right up your alley."

"I do love to shop. I wonder if I'd get the same charge watching other people do it?"

"Have you been back to that yoga class?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Okay, so can you like go home now? I'm tired."

"You're buzzed. There's a big difference."

"Show yourself out. And thanks again." I give her a hug then head back up to my room. I fall across the bed. I think I hear the door close. Then again, it could be Halle, kicking her neighbors' door in when they refuse to turn that music down.

I keep my word. In the morning, I go to the gym. I do not want to believe I have a hangover. I think I do. I've been on this treadmill for forty-three minutes. I'm dripping with perspiration and it probably reeks of sauvignon whatever. I'm taking a long sip of Cytomax when I hear a voice I haven't heard in years: "Robin Stokes. As I live and breathe."

I turn to match the voice with the face. Standing next to me is Michael, obviously reincarnated. He is not fat by a long shot. He's also handsome. What happened to those puffy cheeks? He must be gay now because he's buff. I'll bet it's from steroids. I press the STOP button. "Is that really you, Michael?"

"It is I. I was pretty sure that was you," he says. "You have just made my day. I don't believe this. I was just thinking about you this morning. Wondering what you might be up to. I kid you not."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were living in Miami?"

"I moved back to Phoenix about a year ago. I have a CPA firm. My kids have graduated from college. And I just bought a house not far from here, which is why I joined this gym. You look fantastic, Robin."