She drifted across the floor wearing a pink feather boa, the same color as the lemonade in her glass. It was so long it slithered along the floor behind her. She slid smoothly onto the piano bench next to me and placed a diamond-studded hand on my silk cuff. Her shoulder rubbed against mine, like some cat looking for a handout from the kitchen. The heat behind her jade eyes flamed like a Bunsen burner ,but they left me cold.
I looked into the mirror on the wall behind the piano. I could see the parakeet in the cage on the opposite side of the room, his beady eyes staring at us. The hibiscus in the corner seemed to glow in the gray room and I wondered how it could live in this gray cloud. It must be as fake as the smile on her face.
The rain was pounding on the roof. I stared at the mirror and it took on the quality of an old photograph tucked too long in a dark drawer. Its frame was a tarnished gold locket.
She whispered, “Do you have any good memories.”