Gabriele thought again about her interaction with this woman, Rita/Lily, Lily/Rita, Rita/Rita, or whatever. Sometimes she was truly empathic with her. For the most part, she used her as that extra person out there with whom she and Nathaniel could mention from time to time. Mostly she didn't give a damn about her one way or the other. Gabriele rued and ruminated about this fact. "Oh well, it's the human condition," she told herself as if she had the perfect excuse. She wondered if Rita and all isolated halfwits needed to imagine someone as caring about them even if such people really did not care. Just by being that imagined benefactress, she argued to herself, she helped the girl without even having to do it in reality. As she was thinking this she heard knocking on the door. She put a wad of tobacco into her mouth. "Who is it?" asked Gabriele as if there could be infinite possibilities. "G-a-b-r-i-e-l- e," sang Rita. It was a sing-songey, monotonous, and lethargic tune. "Identify yourself," said Gabriele and then quickly began to move the canvas, tripod, brushes, and paint into her bedroom. The painting wasn't completed and she didn't want to respond to questions about it. More importantly, she did not want to be made to feel that she owed the painting or a replica of it to the unwitting model. "I'm Lily." "Lily who?" Lily giggled audibly through the closed door. "Lily Rita" "Those are first names. What is your last name?" "Nothing special. Just Smith." "Kennedy Smith of the Kennedy dynasty--are you from the family of wealthy politicians?" "No, nothing special. Hardware store." "A hardware tycoon." "Dad's a worker; but he supervises others--a manager. Nothing special." "I think that is special." She opened the door. "Come in, Miss Kennedy Smith. Sit down over there while I pour you whiskey and cola without the whiskey." She had to admit to herself that she found her little friendship with Rita/Lily rather amusing. What more could one want from a friendship? It was fresh air in the stale cellar of one's mind. As she took a bottle out of the refrigerator and poured the content into glasses on the counter, she looked onto this pathetic society that was hers. Rita/Lily's feigned smile was lasting an abnormally long time and waxed and waned awkwardly. "Man problems?" asked Gabriele. "Sort of," she giggled bashfully. "Really, it's not having one. I feel lonely. I don't know what to do with myself." "You're not supposed to date anyhow. Didn't you say that the group home got you a job waiting on tables in the concession area of the skating rink?" "Semi-independent. I'm in semi-independent. Semi-independent counselors." "Whatever. Same counselors; but okay, let's be precise: semi." "I feel alone in the evenings." "Read a book." "Too tired to read. Gabriele, why don't you get married?" Gabriele brought the drinks and sat down in her director's chair.