My Friend, Mitzi
THE first time I met Mitzi was at a gala celebrating my book’s success. “You don’t look like a bookish type,” she told me by way of introduction. “I can see how your name, Jess Carter, would look good on the cover of your book, though.”
She paused for a beat, as if contemplating this, and nodded in approval.
“Everyone here looks so stodgy and plain – except you. It’s just your hair. I don’t like this muddy brown. I think you’d make a great redhead. So I’m going to call you Red. I’m Mitzi, by the way. I speak three languages: English, sarcasm and some other language I can’t quite remember right now.”
My hand was taken and pumped enthusiastically. I couldn’t decide if I should be shocked or amused. I settled on amused.
