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"Do you want to come inside the blanket," the beggar asked my wife, his tongue slurring with the effect of alcohol. My wife looked at me for approval and what was I to say in this condition so I nodded and took another gulp of rum. My wife started towards the beggar, when he almost screamed, "hey, hey woman what are you doing? You are dripping wet and if you come inside my blanket you will wet the entire thing and then even I will have nothing to warm up."He was absolutely right there and my wife stopped. She looked really miserable standing in the very unlit bus shelter in the middle of the night. The only sound was the incessant splattering of rain. She sighed and started taking her saree off. What was she doing I thought as suddenly it flashed to me that she was not wearing any panty or bra under the saree but I was too cold to do or say anything.Slowly my wife took off her saree and her petticoat which was still dripping wet. Then she slowly took off her small blouse and her big. George grinned."What do I call you, Miss, I don't believe we've been introduced?" George held out his hand in the way he knew Jean offered hers to women she had not met.Bobby giggled. "Just Bobbi with an 'i' Georgie. Let's decide on your outfit for the day."Jean had been focused on the new book, feeling utmost confidence in George and Bobby to work the situation out. The words were coming, the nuances were better and the intricate relationships were becoming more than real, they were compelling. It was unlike any book she had done and her level of satisfaction and excitement grew. It was addictive. She wanted to see how it turned out and could not leave the keyboard. She was approaching the close, filling into George's detailed outline and fleshing it out before he did. This was going to prove something to herself, that she could consider her self a real writer, not just someone who ground out trashy romance novels. She hated to admit it but some of the reviews had hurt, as they had.
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