simtarts

chapter index
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Warnings/bonuses: adult situations, semi-nudity, language, 85+ jpg pictures

It was a picture-perfect morning in Pleasantview's Old Towne. A spring
breeze fingered through the tree branches, and the birds murmured and
chirped overhead. This sleepy atmosphere was punctuated by the stark
click of the Caliente sisters' shoes as they walked across the paving stones,
setting out on their individual missions.

"God, it's cute," Nina said, taking in her surroundings. There was a green
grocer's on the corner, and further down was a dress shop, a florist, and a
beauty salon. An ancient courthouse stood at the end of the street, and
next to that there was a sidewalk cafe, complete with a bronze fountain.
"Sickeningly cute," she added, because she was starting to miss the
squalor of the city - and not just the squalor, but the everyday, the plain
old ordinary.

That was the problem with Pleasantview: it was just too damn perfect. It
made her feel like she ought to be on her best behavior, which in turn
made her feel suffocated and restless. It was like wearing a thick sweater
in mid-July.

"Jobs are pretty scarce in Sim City right now, but it looks like they'll be
even scarcer here," she said, already weary from the job search she had
yet to begin. Her pessimism was a calculated defense against disappoint-
ment, should she be unlucky today.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Dina said, ever the optimist. "Just walk in
and tell people you need work. In small towns like these, people go
out of their way to make newcomers feel welcome."

Nina doubted this, but she didn't say so. "So what are you going to do
while I job hunt?" she asked instead.

"Do a little shopping, I think. My spring wardrobe needs freshening."

Nina merely nodded, though privately, she thought that her sister's summer,
autumn, and winter wardrobes could use some freshening, too. Dina's
current style was better suited to someone pushing fifty than a mere
twenty-three year old.

"Want to meet at the sidewalk cafe at noon?" she suggested.

"Sure," Dina smiled. "See you then." She crossed the street, leaving
Nina to her unhappy task of going door-to-door, begging for employment.

Dina soon discovered that while retail options may have been limited in
Pleasantview, fashion options were not. The Ostero Boutique had several
high end gowns in the window, and even though she didn't know much
about labels, she was sure that they were probably made by big-name
designers, like Manolo Blahnik - she made gowns, didn't she? Or
maybe it was purses?

It was the red dress that caught her eye, in particular. Dina didn't usually
wear red. She preferred soft pastel colors, green being her favorite. Red
was the color of passion, the hue of danger. Red said "stop" and "hot" at
the same time. Red was emotionally intense - studies even showed that it
increased respiration and blood pressure. In heraldry, red was a symbol
of courage.

Perhaps it was time for her to inject a little red into her wardrobe.

Before buying anything, red or otherwise, Dina pushed through the doors
of the beauty salon. Her hair and skin were the canvas for new clothes,
and her canvas needed priming. Soccer-mom hair and chapstick would
hardly set off a blazing red dress properly.

"Hiya!" a pretty, perky woman chirped when Dina entered. "I'm Brandi
Broke and this here is the Flat Broke Beauty Salon. I'll make you look
like a million simoleons for under twenty!"

Dina smiled and returned the greeting, though she had some doubts as
to whether or not Brandi could perform the sort of style upgrade she had
in mind. Carefully, she explained to Brandi what she wanted done, assuring
her that cost was no issue.

Maybe it was the prospect of making more than twenty simoleons for once,
or maybe she just wanted a challenge - either way, Brandi agreed to give
Dina what she wanted.

"You absolutely sure, though?" Brandi asked, lowering the stylist's chair a few
notches.

"You don't think you can do it?"

"Oh no, I can do it. It's just a pretty extreme request. The most wild thing
anyone's ever asked me for is blue highlights, and that came from my
son, Dustin."

"Don't worry about it," Dina said, smiling. Her eyes were closed tight,
though, as if she were bracing herself for something.

"I'm ready."

                                   ****

So far, Nina had dropped by the Florist, the sidewalk cafe, a newsstand,
a fancy French restaurant, and a service station. At each establishment,
the managers had told her that they were very sorry, but they were not
currently accepting applications.

Finally, the mechanic at the service station had taken pity on her and had
suggested she check with the Skylark Lounge. They could probably use
some help behind the bar, he had said, and Nina thanked him so pro-
fusely that he started to look embarrassed and kicked over a can of oil.

The Skylark Lounge wasn't much to look at, as it turned out, and for that
Nina was grateful. It wasn't a complete dive, by any means, but the tan,
70s-era brick exterior was a far cry from the quaint little shops in Old
Towne.

Finally, a whiff of the ordinary in ever-perfect Pleasantview.

The inside of the Skylark was just as ordinary. The place was on the small
side, though a pool table and a jukebox had been crammed in at either end.
The tiled floors were scuffed and the decor was bland but homey. It must have
been a slow time of day, too, because the place was dead.

"Hi," said a petite blond girl, spotting Nina by the front doors. "You don't
have to wait to be seated. You can sit anywhere you like."

"Oh - actually, I was wondering if you guys were hiring?"

"I think we are," the girl said. "You should ask Mercy, the owner. That's
her behind the bar."

Mercy turned out to be a statuesque woman with dark hair. She was stacking
glasses behind the bar, and was so absorbed in her taste that she didn't look
up until Nina had cleared her throat a few times.

"Hi... ah, sorry to interrupt. The blond girl in the sweatshirt said you might be
hiring, and that I should talk to you about getting an application?" Nina
winced inwardly at the high quiver in her voice - it only ever showed up
when she was scared or nervous.

"Hiring?" Mercy echoed, saying the word as if she'd never heard it before.
Her gaze narrowed a bit when she looked Nina over, as if she didn't much
like what she saw. "Well, let me check with my partner," she finally said,
then turned away and walked into the small kitchen near the back.

"I'm Tamara, by the way," the blond girl piped up, giving a little wave. "And
that's my boyfriend, Grayson." Grayson flashed Nina a slight grin, then turned
back to his pool game.

"I'm Nina Caliente," Nina said, glad that Tamara, at least, was friendly.
Grayson might be too, she supposed, but it was hard to tell when he
was so focused on his pool game.

Nina managed to keep her smile plastered on her face, even as she could
overhear Mercy arguing fiercely with someone in the kitchen.

Not that kind of a business... she thought she heard Mercy say. What
was that supposed to mean? Nina was dressed right for job-hunting, and
her three whole weeks of previous job experience had been at a bar. At
a night-club, to be more precise. But maybe she shouldn't bring that up,
seeing as she'd been fired.

Nina didn't get a change to mention her former employment, though, because
when Mercy returned she bluntly informed Nina that no, the Skylark was not
hiring. "Sorry," she said, and her smile was so forced that it looked more
like a snarl. "We don't need any help."

Nina had expected job hunting to be tough, but she hadn't expected to be
treated with such hostility. "Okay," she said, managing to keep her voice
steady. "The mechanic at that service station down the street was the one
who said you were hiring. Since you're not, maybe you should tell him to
stop spreading the word. You know, so someone else doesn't end up
wasting your time today."

With those words she turned on her heel quickly, to keep Mercy from seeing
the barely-contained rage on her face.

She headed for the exit, silently fuming, yet utterly perplexed as to why Mercy
had been so unpleasant to her. The most unpleasant person in Pleasant-
view, she thought sourly.

At that thought, she looked over her shoulder one last time, surprised to see
that Mercy was watching her go, a finger held to her chin in thought. Behind her,
a man in a cook's apron glared in Nina's direction.

Or did he glare in Mercy's direction?

                                   ****

Before she spoke, Tamara chose her words carefully. With Mercy, you had to.
She was a good friend, Mercy...clever, fierce, and loyal. But she was defensive,
too, and anyone who wasn't her friend was her enemy.

"I thought you were looking for someone to take over your shift a few nights a
week?" she said, letting her voice go softer than usual. "Or was I wrong?" Yes,
she had to be prepared to blame herself, or Mercy would do it for her.

"I'm in no hurry," Mercy said. Moving deliberately, she pulled a red cup out
from beneath the pool table and set it down on the green felt.

"I've seen that chick before. At Spritz, one of those trendy-shit nightclubs
between Sim State and Sim City."

"Spritz is one of those places with strobe lights and a rotating cast of DJs with
retarded names, like DJ Sir Cums-a-lot or DJ Tanner. They hire female bartenders,
but because they make for good eye-candy, not because they can pour. One
girl worked the bar like it was a pole - seriously, all she did was dance around.
The guys ate it up, too, hooting and beating their chests like a bunch of apes."

"I was bored as hell and I told Tom to come find me at the diner down the street
when he was done with the Coyote Ugly show. That should have been his cue
to leave with me, but you know Tom.... he's stubborn. Stubborn or stupid, I
haven't figured that one out yet. Not sure if he has, either."

"Cut it out, Mercy," Tom said, clenching his right hand into a fist before he could
stop himself. "I'm not a fucking mind-reader, am I?"

"No," Mercy said, cooly. She drew the pool cue back, as an archer might pull
back an arrow, and held it there for a split-second. Then she thrust it forward,
hitting the ball with a loud crack.

The ball jumped in the air, and seemed suspended for just a moment, hanging
like a miniature moon.

Then, with a clean swoosh of air, it dropped neatly into the waiting cup.

Mercy laughed. "Definitely, not a mind reader," she said.

To that, Tom had no reply, suggesting that he was perhaps more of a mind
reader than Mercy knew - to protest would hardly win him any points,
after all.

"After a while I got tired of waiting at the diner, so I headed back to Spritz.
Couldn't find Tom anywhere until I went out the back door. He was in the
alley with Miss Fancy-footwork, had his hands on her hips and who knows
where else."

"We got into a big fight right then and there, of course, and the chick ran off
into the night. Tom swore up and down that there was nothing going on -
that the girl was upset or something, but I could hear the lie in his words.
Like I always can."

"I got a good look at her when she scampered off, and her and the chick
who was just in here are one in the same. The hell if I hire some stripper
wannabe to serve up drinks to my friends and family. And if Tom wants to
ogle someone, he can ogle me from back in the kitchen," Mercy finished,
smiling her hard, white smile.

"I understand," Tamara said quietly. "But I think you should know that the
girl told me her name."

"So?" Mercy put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders.

"It's Nina Caliente."

Mercy's mouth dropped open into a rare expression of utter shock.

"Caliente?" she breathed, a heavy sensation filling the space where her
stomach once was. "Oh shit."

                                  ****

Nina stomped across the parking lot and finally sank down to her knees on
a patch of grass at the far end. She needed to think about this for a minute -
not about Mercy, even though the woman's rudeness nagged at her, but about
the man in the cook's apron.

She was sure she had seen him somewhere before...

For some reason, trying to visualize his face took her back to over a year
ago, when she had worked as a bartender at Spritz nightclub. It hadn't
been hard work, really. The manager, Peter, had made most of the drinks,
while Nina and the other girls had danced behind the bar and handed out
bottles of beer from time to time. Peter always said that the biggest part of
their job was to smile and look pretty. Leave the heavy stuff to him.

It was sort of degrading, but it was undeniably fun, too. A little bit silly. And yet
it was exciting to feel the men's eyes on her, to see them smile and wave their
arms, all of them vying for her attention.

Which is why she never made eye contact - so long as she looked away,
at anything but them, they would keep flocking around her, buying more
drinks and passing more tips.

But one night, she broke her own rule. A man up front - rugged, good-looking,
arms crossed over his chest as if he had better places to be - he managed
to catch her eye. She still didn't know how he did it, but the word that
came to mind was magnetism. His eyes were a light, steely blue,
and when they locked onto her own, she found herself unable to look away.
A fluttery feeling woke up in her chest - the sensation of reaching the apex
of the first hill on a roller coaster, hands white-knuckled on the safety bar.

When her gaze managed to free itself and look elsewhere, it came to rest
on his lips, which, being criminally full and lush, only made the fluttery feeling
worse. Over the pounding electronica, she saw his mouth give shape to a word.

More.

                               More.

A rush of excitement shot through her. The cart of the roller coaster had plummeted
out from beneath her, and she was flying, spinning out in wild, new directions.
She could give him what he wanted, or she could deny him. Either way, it was
her choice. And she made that choice when she peeled off her tank top
and dropped it to the ground.

Then she looked him straight on. Let him know that this show was for him,
and no one else.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one watching the show, not by a long shot, and
the other men who were gathered around let out a cheer so loud and enthusiastic
that Peter came rushing over to investigate.

Being chewed out and fired sort of let the wind out of her sails. She didn't
feel sexy and empowered now, just small and ashamed.

She managed to hold in her tears until she got outside. Fired after only
three weeks - and for taking what her boss had always encouraged
her to do just a small step further. How was a bra so different from the crop-
tops that Shelly wore? Or the thong that showed from the top of Ariane's jeans?

She didn't hear him come up behind her until he spoke. His voice was harsh
and gravelly, making her jump.

"I guess this is sort of my fault," he said, his fingers grazing the back of her arm.

"Yeah." She swallowed thickly.

"Is there anything I can -"

Before he could finish, she turned around and fell into him, kissing him fiercely,
with the same kind of abandon she'd felt when she danced for him. She dug
her fingernails into his back and he did the same, returning the pressure.
His fingernails were sharp, for a man, and she barely suppressed a cry.

When the door opened behind them she pulled away at once. Then, without
so much as a goodbye, she was running out of the alley, away from the
stranger she'd made out with.

The stranger she'd just now seen inside the Skylark Lounge, dressed in a red
shirt and a cook's apron.

Nina thought the situation over as she walked back through Old Towne.
Who had interrupted them in the alley that night? She ran away because she
had thought it was Peter, but maybe it was Mercy. If Mercy was the stranger's
girlfriend...well, no wonder she had been so hostile. Girls tended not to
like it when you made moves on their boyfriends - Nina knew this much from
previous experience.

Nina was over ten minutes late by the time she got to the sidewalk cafe, so she
was surprised to find that Dina was nowhere to be seen. Dina was always on
time.

"Nina!" her sister's voice called, and Nina whirled her head around in response.
Still, she couldn't see where the voice was coming from. Maybe if the fountain
wasn't so loud...

"I'm right here!" said a woman who looked very little like Dina, but nevertheless
sounded just like her. This woman had long black hair, and wore a red dress
with a plunging neckline, whereas Dina was known for turtlenecks and high
collars. "Look, I bought you an espresso."

"Dina?" Nina took a step back and gasped.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

                                ****

"What's wrong?" Dina asked, watching her sister carry the groceries into
the kitchen. "You barely said a word this afternoon. Are you mad that I
made you carry in the food?"

Nina placed the sack of food on a counter, then turned to face her sister, hands
anchored on her hips.

"I don't mind carrying the groceries. But now that we're alone, can you please
tell me what you've done to yourself? And don't just say 'it's my new look!' this
time. A new look is some highlights and a manicure, not a pitch-black hair
weave."

"Lots of people get weaves," Dina said lightly. "You don't think Beyonce's
hair looks like that naturally, do you? Besides, my hair was already blond.
What would be the point of highlights?"

"Who cares about Beyonce?" Nina protested. "I'm talking about you, and..."
she trailed off, frowning. "You don't look like my sister anymore."

You don't look like my twin, came the irrational thought. Irrational
because they weren't identical twins, and they had never looked alike.
But Dina had always looked like Dina - sensible and practical. Now she
looked like a stranger.

Dina hoisted herself up onto the counter and crossed her legs. Then she
dropped her hand into her palm and gave Nina a serious, searching look.

"So what I'm hearing you say," she began, sounding like a psychologist,
"is that you don't like it when I don't look like you expect me to."

Nina made a face and sighed heavily. "Look...your hair and your clothes
are your own, okay? But I just don't get it. It just doesn't seem like you to
reinvent yourself, and with Michael being gone I'm just worried that there
might be something else going on with you."

Dina looked startled. "You think I'm doing this out of grief?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Nina shrugged.

"So when you dyed your hair with cherry kool-aid and pierced everything
on your body, it was out of grief, eh?" Dina asked, good-naturedly.

Nina dropped her arms from her hips. "Okay, nevermind," she said, moving
to leave the kitchen. It was better to end the conversation before her temper
tried to become an active participant, and getting hot-headed with Dina
never did any good, anyway. "I can see this is going nowhere, so...
I'm just going to go back to setting up my room."

"Okay," Dina said, her eyes bright as they followed Nina's retreating figure.
"I'll take dinner duty, if you do the dishes."

Nina managed an apathetic "sure."

As she walked up the stairs, she wondered if her sister had always been this
mysterious. Dina was responsible and predictable - that was the thing - and it
kept people from ever questioning why she made the choices she made. But now
that they were living together, just the two of them, Nina saw that most of Dina's
choices were based on motives she couldn't fathom.

Why was money and success so important to Dina, when they had inherited
everything they could ever need from their parents? Why had she married the
first man she ever dated - a man decades older than her, who she had only known
for a few months? And why...why the black hair?

Too many whys.

After dinner, Nina spent most of the evening putting the finishing touches on
her new bedroom. It probably wasn't going to win her any awards from
Martha Stewart, but she thought that the bright colors helped to drive away
some of the room's previous starkness.

When she sat back on her bed to view the collage of poloroid photographs
that she had pinned up to the wall, it occurred to her that she hadn't seen
any of the people featured in them for quite some time - people (okay, most
of them were men) she once considered friends.

Ever since the car crash, she'd been avoiding phone calls and ignoring
emails. She'd been keeping to herself, out of penance. College had
been one long party for her, after all, and she had rarely found time to
pick up the phone and call her parents.

And now she would never be able to call them. To be social now, to have
fun and laugh, would be like forgetting them all over again.

But her parents wouldn't have wanted her to sit in her room, avoiding the
world and getting cozy with self pity. They would want her to make friends,
to be happy.

So Nina would pretty herself up a little, then. Dig up some lipgloss and
eyeliner, slip into her favorite boots, and take herself out to where the
people were. She would smile like she wasn't lonely, and she would
force herself to be friendly - even if she was feeling shy.

"Where are you going?" Dina looked up from her SimCO laptop, noting
her twin's halter top, and the subtle whiff of her favorite perfume.

"Out. I'm feeling restless tonight."

"Should I wait up?"

Nina paused, her hand on the doorknob. "No," she finally said, giving
Dina a slight smile.

She walked out into the night, recognizing the smell of freshly-cut grass.
It was a smell that reminded her of childhood, when her mother had told
her that it was really the smell of the stars coming out.

Lifting her nose, she breathed it in and smiled. Tonight, things would
be okay.

                                    ****

Nina hadn't planned on returning to the spot of her earlier humiliation,
but the fact of the matter was that the Skylark Lounge was the only bar
within walking distance of the condo. As far as she could tell, it was also
the only place still open in town.

Maybe it was reckless of her to show up here again, but surely Mercy couldn't
afford to chase off paying customers in a town as small as Pleasantview.

To be on the safe side, Nina took a seat near the front door. That way, if Mercy
came at her with the jagged end of a broken beer bottle, she could make a
fast getaway.

After a quick look-around, though, Nina was relieved to find that the rude
woman wasn't anywhere to be seen. She settled back into the booth and
tried to relax.

Before she could fully register his presence, her mysterious stranger was
suddenly at her side, sliding a plate of delicious-smelling food in front of
her. She tried to fight it, but a foolish grin surfaced on her face, anyway.

"I didn't order this," she said.

"It's a curry." His voice was lower and more gravelly than she remembered.
"Tonight's special - on the house."

He didn't return her smile, and instead frowned, his eyebrows knitted
together with concern.

"You should leave," he said under his breath.

"Why?" she asked, the smile fading from her face.

He stretched out his arm slightly, as if he were pleading with her.

"Just go," he said, with more volume this time.

"Don't be silly, Tom," a voice said, both cool and syrupy, like vodka straight
out of the freezer. It was Mercy, and she stepped in front of Tom, who had
already turned away in defeat anyway.

"That was very rude of him," she said, a freshly opened beer poised in her
hand. Nina wondered if she was going to break it on end of the table
and threaten her with it.

Instead, she set it down on the table in front of Nina. "You look like a beer-
drinking woman to me," she said. "None of those sissy cosmopolitans
for you. Here, have this one on me."

Nina gazed up at her, too dumbfounded to speak.

"Think of it as an apology for earlier," Mercy continued. "I was kind of
brusque, and you know, it could be that we'll have a position open up
in a few weeks after all. You never can tell."

"Thanks," Nina finally managed.

Mercy smiled, and it was somehow chilling rather than comforting.

"Enjoy!" she said, and sauntered off.

Before Nina could ever bring the beer bottle to her lips, Tamara had slid
into the chair across from her.

"What did Mercy want?" she asked at once, sounding worried.

"She gave me a beer," Nina said, smiling in confusion. "She said it was
an apology for earlier, and that maybe there will be a job opening up
here in a few weeks."

"Oh."

Tamara's usually smiling face was uncharacteristically somber. Between
her and Tom, and Mercy's earlier behavior, Nina was starting to feel like
a grade-A pariah. Why was everyone at the Skylark so intent on chasing
her off?

She was going to ask Tamara just that, when a wall of expensive, manly
cologne washed over her, stilling her tongue. Looking around, she saw
that it was coming from a lean, swarthy-looking man. His shirt was unbuttoned
down to his sternum, and all he needed to complete his on-the-prowl look
was a couple of gold chains and a thicket of chest hair.

God, she thought. Talk about desperate!

Even so, she rose to her feet, taking her beer with her.

"You're leaving?" Tamara asked.

"Just need some fresh air," Nina muttered. Through the glass of the front
doors she could see the man lighting up a cigarette. "Be right back."

Outside, she walked towards the man, wiping fake beads of sweat from
her hairline. He was leaning against the bricks, watching her approach.

"It's hot out tonight," Nina said, following with a long swig of beer.

With a low chuckle, the man exhaled a stream of smoke. "I guess you
could say that," he said. In contrast to Tom's gravelly voice, his was
smooth, like he smoked silk instead of harsh tobacco.

In the dim light, Nina glimpsed a ring on his middle finger, crowned with
a diamond the size of a dime. That was odd. He didn't look like the sort
of man who would wear bling.

"Can I bum a cigarette?" she asked, tilting her head in a coquettish way.
She almost wanted to laugh at herself, going to such lengths to make a play
on the player. Why not, though? She been alone for a long time, and he was
a sure thing.

"No problem," the man said, shaking a cigarette out of a crumpled packet.
He leaned in close to her as he passed it over. "You know," he said, widening
his eyes in a mocking way, "these things will kill you."

"That's okay," Nina said, letting the cigarette burn between her fingers. "I don't
really smoke."

He grinned hard, as if she had just confirmed something he suspected. "But it's
a good excuse, right?"

"A good excuse for what?" She took a tiny sip from the end of the cigarette, letting
the smoke pool out from between her lips instead of breathing it in.

"A good excuse to talk to strangers, of course. Why don't we sit down at the table
over there? You can finish your beer and tell me your name."

She smiled and nodded in agreement, following him over to the table. There
was candle burning in a little votive, as if the table was here specifically for
these kinds of trysts.

"I'm Nina."

"That's a nice name. I'm Don."

"Don what? Don Johnson? Don Rumsfeld?" she teased.

"Don Lothario."

"What?" She burst out laughing. "You're not serious."

"Well, what's your last name, little Miss Nina?" he asked calmly, stubbing out
his cigarette on the bottom of the table.

"Caliente."

"Spanish," he said, holding a finger to his lips. "And having nothing to do
with how hot you are...or am I wrong?"

"I don't know," she said. "Are you a Lothario because your last name is
Lothario?"

"This sounds like armchair philosophy now. 'Does a tree that falls in the
woods make a sound,' or something."

"Maybe it's just coincidence," she said, finally giving up on her cigarette
and dropping it to the ground.

"A happy one, then," he said, stretching his arm out across the table. "It
would suck to meet a girl named Caliente who wasn't as hot as you are."

"Okay," she said, rolling her eyes but smiling.

"So tell me, Caliente, did you drive here?"

"I walked." I don't drive, she almost said, but didn't.

He asked where she lived and she gave him the street name, but not the
number. She wasn't that reckless.

"Let me walk you home," he said. "I'm going your way."

What the hell.

She agreed, and they walked across the Skylight Lounge's
parking lot together. She'd only had that one beer, but she felt as giddy
as if she'd downed six, and when they turned in the direction of her street,
he reached back with his hand, brushing her fingers.

She smiled, then took the hint and grabbed hold.

                            ****

Even thought Nina had told her not to, Dina had waited up for her anyway.
Though truthfully, she was up late because of work. Her all day shopping-spree
had put her behind on some deadlines, but by the time 1:30 am rolled around
she was caught up enough to turn the laptop off.

Leaning back in her chair, Dina yawned and stretched her arms overhead.
Nina was frustrated with her, she knew, but hopefully, her little evening out
would put her in a more amiable mood, and would put an end to her questions,
too.

How funny that Nina thought her new look had been an expression of grief.
Dina had plenty of grief, but she wasn't about to express it. She kept it
locked up inside of herself - her grief was for her and her alone.

And for Michael, too.

She grieved not just for his death, but for his life. For their life together.
It had been too short, but it had been happy. She hoped he thought it had
been happy.

She hoped that wherever he was, he understood her now. No one else
understood her - she couldn't afford to let them.

She dimmed the lights and lay down on the bed beside her husband's
ashes. Softly, she spoke to him.

"Whatever happens next, please know that I did love you."

Look in my memories, and you'll see.

                            ****

           to be continued in chapter 3

Author's Notes:
- All of the sims who were pictured at the Skylark (Mercy, Tom, Tamara, and Grayson), are slightly-tweaked creations from LL30 Sims, because the creators there make the most unique-looking sims around!
- Nina has a few fashion slip-ups in this update. Her string of beads keeps appearing and disappearing at the beginning, because my Nina clone wasn't wearing the beads and I didn't notice until way after the pictures were taken. I wasn't about to take the pictures again, so let's just pretend she was nervously taking her necklace off and on. :D Also, the red bra she strips down to would have shown visible straps in that tank-top, I think. Oops. :D
- I made a HUGE ERROR and had to repost chapter one, so I lost everyone's previous comments. Sorry! :( Total bummer since I love comments (who doesn't?)