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"Yes, Mrs. Randolph."

We stepped into the elevator and she pushed the button for the floor that had the coffee shop.

"What about your husband?" I asked as the doors closed.

"What about him?"

"Won't he ask questions about me, about these bills?"

"He doesn't ask questions about my bills. I have my own money."

"But what about my living with your mother? He'll know about that, won't he?"

"Yes," she said with great effort as the doors opened. "Well?"

She stopped and turned to me with frustration.

"I don't have all the answers just yet. I'm planning on telling him you were recommended by friends of mine who are involved with charities. He'll think it's a nice thing. I'm doing something for Mom and I'm finding a home for a needy young girl at the same time," she concluded.

"Won't he still ask a lot of questions about me, though?"

"He has too much on his mind these days to be distracted by my problems," she said as she continued walking.

"Problems. Is that how you see me?"

"Oh Lord," she said gasping and putting her hand on her forehead. "Look," she said turning back to me. "I know this isn't easy for you, but you've got to think about me, too. I don't know you. I don't know how to talk to you. I don't even know if I'm doing a good thing. Give me a break, will you. Teenagers," she muttered. "As if I didn't have enough at home."

"I can go back to Mama," I threatened.

"Oh sure. No thank you. That's one woman I don't want mad at me," she said.

I couldn't help but smile to myself at that.

"Let's just relax for a few minutes. Please," she pleaded. "My head feels like it's being used as someone's bowling ball."

I followed her to the cafe where we were seated in a booth.

"What would you like? They have a great ice mocha with whipped cream," she suggested.

"Just coffee," I said.

She shifted the menu and looked at me.

"Just coffee? Well, I feel like a rich

cappuccino." She ordered for us and ordered chocolate biscotti, too. Then she sat back and contemplated me. "Tell me about yourself," she said.

"What do you want to know?"

"What are your interests? What do you want to do with your life? Do you have any boyfriends? Is there someone you're going to leave behind?" she catalogued. "Jeeze," she said, sitting forward, "I thought you were smart. Figure it out."

I didn't know whether to be angry or not. There was something I really liked about her. She was rich and elegant and even snobby, but she had an edge, an offbeat way about her that brought smiles to the faces of my most critical thoughts.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend, but I'm leaving Roy behind. Actually, he's going into the army anyway," I said.

"Roy is..."

"My brother," I said. I looked down. "Well, not really, I know, but that was how I was raised."