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A
week
after
reading
the
Newsweek
article
she
awoke
on
a
Thursday
morning
too
sick
to
get
out
of
bed
.
When
she
tried
to
sit
up
,
she
couldn
’
t
.
Her
head
and
stomach
were
throbbing
.
She
was
still
wearing
her
jeans
and
T
-
shirt
from
the
night
before
,
and
she
felt
suffocated
by
them
.
But
she
could
not
get
them
off
.
The
shirt
was
stuck
to
her
upper
body
,
and
she
was
too
weak
to
pull
it
over
her
head
.
There
was
a
Gibson
on
the
nightstand
.
She
managed
to
roll
over
and
take
it
with
both
hands
,
and
she
got
half
of
it
down
before
beginning
to
retch
.
For
a
moment
she
thought
she
was
choking
,
but
her
breath
came
back
eventually
and
she
finished
the
drink
.
She
was
terrified
.
She
was
alone
in
that
furnace
of
a
room
and
frightened
of
dying
.
Her
stomach
was
raw
and
all
of
her
organs
hurt
.
Had
she
poisoned
herself
on
wine
and
gin
?
She
tried
sitting
up
again
,
and
with
the
gin
in
her
she
managed
it
.
She
sat
there
for
a
few
moments
calming
herself
before
she
went
unsteadily
into
the
bathroom
and
vomited
.
It
seemed
to
cleanse
her
.
She
managed
to
get
her
clothes
off
,
and
afraid
of
slipping
in
the
shower
and
breaking
her
hip
the
way
unsteady
old
women
did
,
she
filled
the
tub
with
lukewarm
water
and
took
a
bath
.
She
should
call
McAndrews
,
Mrs
.
Wheatley
’
s
old
doctor
,
and
make
an
appointment
for
sometime
around
noon
.
If
she
could
make
it
to
his
office
.
This
was
more
than
a
hangover
;
she
was
ill
.
But
downstairs
,
after
her
bath
,
she
was
steadier
and
got
down
two
eggs
with
no
difficulty
.
The
thought
of
picking
up
the
phone
and
calling
someone
seemed
distant
now
.
There
was
a
barrier
between
herself
and
whatever
world
the
phone
would
attach
her
to
;
she
could
not
penetrate
the
barrier
.
She
would
be
all
right
.
She
would
drink
less
,
taper
off
.
Maybe
she
would
feel
like
calling
McAndrews
after
a
drink
.
She
poured
herself
a
glass
of
chablis
and
began
sipping
it
,
and
it
healed
her
like
the
magic
medicine
it
was
.
*
*
*
The
next
morning
while
she
was
eating
breakfast
the
phone
rang
and
she
picked
it
up
without
thinking
.
Someone
named
Ed
Spencer
was
at
the
other
end
;
it
took
a
moment
to
remember
that
he
was
the
local
tournament
director
.
“
It
’
s
about
tomorrow
,
”
he
said
.
“
Tomorrow
?
”
“
The
tournament
.
We
wondered
if
you
could
come
an
hour
early
.
The
Louisville
paper
is
sending
a
photographer
and
we
think
WLEX
will
have
somebody
.
Could
you
come
in
at
nine
?
”
Her
heart
sank
.
He
was
talking
about
the
Kentucky
State
Championship
,
she
had
completely
forgotten
it
.
She
was
supposed
to
defend
her
title
.
She
was
supposed
to
go
to
Henry
Clay
High
School
tomorrow
morning
and
begin
a
two
-
day
tournament
as
defending
champion
.
Her
head
was
throbbing
and
her
hand
that
held
her
coffee
cup
was
unsteady
.
“
I
don
’
t
know
,
”
she
said
.
“
Can
you
call
back
in
an
hour
?
”
“
Sure
,
Miss
Harmon
.
”
