"We're not talking about you or me, sister. We're talking about
Tony and the night, that horrible rainy night, when he took a fall.
You were there, weren't you? Waiting. You thought that when
everybody left you could reason with him. Get him to give you the
pictures.
"But it didn't work out that way, did it? Naw. He baited you, even
laughed. And when he turned his back on you to face the fireplace
and take his drink off the mantle, you pulled out your gun. That's
how it happened, isn't it, sweetheart?
"He turned back around, and you filled him full of lead and left
him lying there for the maid to find the next morning. Tell me when
I'm getting warm."
"I didn't mean to do it," she blubbered. "I just … "
"You just what?" I said. "Shot him?"
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Oops. Sorry. Got carried away there.
Where were we? Oh, yeah. Clossinay.
Actually, it's spelled cloisonné. I know because I just asked
Jessica.
Cloisonné [kloi-zuh-nay], noun: enamelware in which colored areas
are separated by thin metal bands, a.k.a. a type of earring that
Jim thought Jessica liked (or would like - a crucial distinction)
and therefore got her a bunch of for their first
Christmas. But Jim
was wrong, or, depending on whom you believe, sort of wrong, but,
either way, her version or his, Jim never bought any again.
I suppose I should give you the two versions.
Mine: She would love cloisonné earrings, so they'd be perfect as a
Christmas gift.
Hers: I like cloisonné earrings just fine, but I don't want a
million pairs of them, which is the approximate number Jim got me
for Christmas.
Mine: The problem wasn't the number. The problem was the earrings
themselves. I saw the disappointment on your face when you opened
the box.