Chapter 2 Chapter two

One of the great things about life is that it is always ready to live anywhere, no matter how bad it is.For example, in the poisonous sea of ​​Santrakins 5, it can become a fish swimming around without thinking; in the flame storm of Forastella, it is said that life begins at 40,000 degrees. He could eat just as well in the middle of nowhere; even in the utterly joyless place of a mouse's intestines, he could hang around with ease. It is even willing to stay in New York, although the reason for this is really beyond the grasp of ordinary people.There, the temperature dropped precipitously in the winter, well below the legal minimum—or, rather, it would have been below the legal minimum, if you could find someone with a modicum of common sense to set such a temperature.Last time someone did a survey and made a list listing the 100 most prominent character strengths of New Yorkers. "Common Sense" waited until the number 79 was called before sneaking in.

The summer there is terribly hot.If you're the kind of animal that's happier when it's hotter, like the inhabitants of Phlastra, who feel most comfortable living between 40,000°C and 40,004°C, that's a different story, but you're not .When your planet turns to one side, you always have to wrap yourself in the furs of many other animals; and when it turns half a turn, you can only watch your own skin blister.You are such a creature that you would want to live in a place like this. Spring is also a misnomer.Most New Yorkers like to chatter and brag about how good their spring is, but if they really knew even a little bit about the benefits of spring, they would know that there are at least 5,983 places in the world whose spring All are better than New York, and this is only counting the same latitude.

Well, fall, it's definitely the worst.Few things are as bad as autumn in New York.Creatures that live in a mouse's gut might disagree, but what do you expect from something that lives in a mouse's gut?So of course their views can and should be ignored.In New York, the fall air smells like someone is frying goats in it; if you must breathe, the best way to do it is to open a window and stick your head into some building — never directly Smell the air outside. Tricia McMillan loves New York.She kept telling herself that, over and over again.West Side of Manhattan.yeah.Midtown.Hey, retail is awesome.Xiunan District.East Village.clothing.Book.sushi.Italian food.Deli.Oye.

Movie.Also oye.Tricia had just seen a new Woody Allen book about a nervous breakdown in New York.He'd made a film or two in the past that dealt with the same theme, and Tricia wondered if he'd ever considered moving or something, but he was told he was determined not to leave.That's okay, so he will probably be able to make a few more movies like this. Tricia loves New York because loving New York is a good career strategy - it's also a good retail strategy and a good food strategy, not a particularly good taxi strategy or a high-quality sidewalk strategy, but definitely the best One of the best career strategies out there.Tricia is a news anchor, and news headquarters around the world are basically based in New York.Prior to this, Tricia's broadcasting career was completely confined to the UK: local news, then morning news, evening news.As long as the Chinese teacher doesn't object, we can compare her to a fast-rising magic needle in the TV industry, but... Hey, we're talking about the TV industry, so what's wrong with the analogy?All in all, she has it all: beautiful hair, a deep understanding of the strategic application of lipstick, an intellect capable of reading the world, and, in addition, a hidden secret. The little piece (+ son?) is dead - which means she doesn't care.Everyone has a big opportunity in their life.If you happen to miss the one time you care about, then you will not care about anything else in your life in the future, and you can just ignore it and let it go.

Tricia only missed one chance.When she thinks about it now, she doesn't even tremble as much as she used to.She guessed it was all thanks to the dead place in her heart. NBS needs a new anchor.Mo Minetti is leaving the morning news show "Good Morning America" ​​in order to have a baby.The company offered a shocking price, asking her to have sex while on the show; the result was beyond everyone's expectations, and she flatly refused, saying that it was about personal privacy and taste. NBS has a whole team of queen lawyers who sifted through her contract several times from beginning to end to see if she violated any of the terms.But in the end, they failed to persuade her to stay again and again, so they had to let her go.This incident made NBS angry, because for them, the words "repeatedly retain" usually only appear in a completely different context.

Rumor has it that maybe, just maybe, NBS will get a British accent this time.Hair, skin color and braces must of course meet the standards of the American media, but British accents are so hot right now: there are British accents holding an Oscar statuette to thank their mother, there are British accents singing and dancing on Broadway, and there are so many bizarre of viewers tune in every week to those British accents in wigs from the "Dramatic Masterpieces" series.The British accent makes jokes about David Letterman and Jay Leno; no one gets the jokes, but everyone responds to their accent.So maybe now is the time, just maybe. British accent on Good Morning America?What the hell.

That's why Tricia is here.So loving New York is a great career strategy. Of course, this is not the reason for her to put on the stage.If it was revealed that she was going to Manhattan to find a job, it would be difficult to expect her British boss to pay for the plane ticket and hotel again.Of course, the salary in the United States is almost ten times her current salary, and people may think that she can pay for it out of her own pocket.But Tricia, using a news story as cover, kept her job switch tight-lipped, and her British bosses paid for it.Of course she bought business class, but she is considered a celebrity, so she got a free upgrade with just a grin.The right strategy had gotten her a decent room at the Brentwood Hotel, so all was well and she wondered what to do next.

It's one thing to hear the wind, another to actually touch it.There were two names and two numbers in her bag, but in the end she just "waited" twice endlessly, and then returned to the starting point.She tried and left a message, but there has been no reply so far.The work she actually needs to do is done in the morning, while the work she imagines flickers on and off on an unreachable horizon. hell. She came out of the movie theater and hailed a taxi back to Brentwood.The taxi couldn't get close to the sidewalk because a big limousine had taken up all the space, so she had to squeeze past it.She stepped out of the stinking goat-fried air into the cool, lovely hall.Her fine cotton shirt clings to her skin like dirt, and her hair looks like a bargain from a souk.She asked the front desk if there was a message, but she didn't hold any expectations in her heart.But it turned out there was one.

Oh…… it is good. It worked.She went out to the movies just for that, to give the phone a chance to ring.Sitting in her room waiting was too much for her. She began to think.Should I read the message here?Her clothes were itchy and she wanted to take them all off and lie in bed doing nothing.She had already turned the air conditioner all the way to the bottom, far beyond its capabilities.Goosebumps are all she wants in the whole world right now.Then take a hot shower, then a cold shower, and then lie back on the bed with a towel on and let the air conditioner dry yourself.Then read the message again.Maybe some more goosebumps.Maybe some more of a variety.

No, what she wanted most in the whole world was ten times the salary offered by American TV.It attracted her more than anything in this world.worldwide.Because what she really wanted the most is no longer available. She found a chair under a kenn palm in the lobby and opened the little cellophane envelope. "Please call." Above said, "Unhappy." Below is a phone number.Signed Gail Andrews. Gail Andrews. Tricia was not waiting for this name, and she couldn't help being caught off guard.In fact, the name was quite familiar, but she couldn't remember why for a moment.Is this man Andy Martin's secretary?Or Hillary Bass' assistant?Both Martin and Bass were from NBS, and she had contacted, or tried to contact.Also, what does "unhappy" mean?

"unhappy?" She was completely confused. Could it be that Woody Allen was using a pseudonym to contact her?The area code for the phone was 212, so the guy must be from New York, and he wasn't happy.Well, that makes the range smaller, doesn't it? She went back to the reception at the front desk. "I don't quite understand the message you just left," she said. "Someone I don't know called me and said she was unhappy." The receptionist frowned and glanced at the message. "Do you know who this man is?" he asked. "No," Tricia said. "Mm," said the receptionist, "sounds like she's not too happy about something." "That's right," Tricia said. "Look here's another name," said the receptionist, "Gail Andrews. Do you know anyone named that?" "No," Tricia said. "Why is she unhappy, do you have any idea?" "No," Tricia said. "Have you tried the number? Here's a number." "No," Tricia said, "you just left me a message. I just wanted to find out more before calling back. Maybe I could talk to the person who answered the call?" "Hmm," the receptionist went through the message carefully, "I don't remember anyone named Gail Andrews here." "Of course, I realize that," Tricia said, "I just wanted to..." "I'm Gail Andrews." The voice came from behind Tricia.She turned away. "Feel sorry?" "I'm Gail Andrews. You came to meet me this morning." "Oh, oh my God, that's right." Tricia was a little embarrassed. "Called hours ago. You didn't answer, so here I am. I didn't want to miss my chance to see you." "Oh, yeah. Of course." Tricia struggled to keep up with the situation. "By the way, this," the receptionist said, since he had nothing to follow up anyway, "do you want me to try this number for you?" "No, no, thanks," Tricia said, "I can do it myself now." "Here is a room number, I can call it for you, if it can help you." The receptionist said and looked at the message. "No, it's not necessary, thanks," Tricia said. "That's my own room number. The message was for me. As far as I'm concerned, it's settled." "Have a nice day then," said the receptionist. Tricia didn't particularly want to have a good time.She is very busy. Nor did she want to see Gail Andrews.Tricia doesn't like to engage in friendly relations with opponents, and she has always been very strict on this kind of issue.If she needs to interview a guy she hates, her colleagues will contact her on her behalf; and then, when they see that person walking into the studio innocently and facing Tricia, the colleagues will often make the sign of the sign of the cross, if Especially when Tricia showed her white teeth with gusto. She turned around and smiled sternly, not knowing what to do. Gail Andrews was in his forties and well groomed.Her clothes were on the expensive and tasteful line, closer to the expensive end.She was an astrologer--well-known and, if the rumors were true, influential.She is said to have influenced former President Hudson's decisions on everything from what day of the week to eat creamy pastries to whether to bomb Damascus. Tricia had just spat all over her hard.It's not about the president's stuff, that's old news.Ms. Andrews has emphatically emphasized before that she is only providing some spiritual and dietary advice for Mr. President's personal situation, which obviously does not include issues such as bombing Damascus (the tabloids at the time made a fuss and said: "We are not Against you, Damascus!"). No, Tricia is taking the whole astrology thing and doing it neatly.Ms Andrews at the time wasn't quite ready.Tricia, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready for the extra game in the hotel lobby.what to do? "I can meet you at the bar if you need a few minutes," Gail Andrews said, "but I hope to talk to you tonight, before I leave New York." She didn't look aggrieved or resentful, just a little anxious about something. "Okay," Tricia said, "give me ten minutes." She went upstairs to her room.The guy at the front desk was really worrying, he probably couldn't handle something as complicated as valet leaving a message, so she had to double-check to see if there was a note stuffed under the door or something.She has encountered this kind of thing in the past. Sometimes the message at the front desk and the message under the door are completely incompatible. No note. But the answering machine on the phone kept blinking. She pressed the message button and got through to the hotel operator. "You have a message from Gray Andreas," said the operator. "Huh?" Tricia said.strange name. "What do you say above?" "Not hippies," said the operator. "Nothing?" Tricia asked. "Hippie. That's what the message said. The guy said he wasn't a hippie. Guess he wanted you to know. Want a number?" She began to read the number, and Tricia suddenly realized that this was just a modified version of the previous message①. "OK, OK," she said, "any more messages?" "What's the room number?" Tricia couldn't understand the reason for asking this after talking about it, but she said it anyway. "name?" "Macmillan, Tricia? Macmillan." Tricia spelled it out patiently. "Isn't it McManus?" "no." "No message from you." Click. Tricia sighed and dialed again.She said her name and room number again, this time first when she came up.Even though the two had spoken less than ten seconds earlier, the operator showed no sign of realizing the problem. "I'm going to the bar," Tricia explained, "to the bar. If someone calls me, can you please transfer it to the bar?" "name?" The whole thing went over twice more until Tricia felt certain that everything that could possibly be said had been said as clearly as possible. She took a shower, she fixed her makeup professionally, looked at the bed and sighed, and walked out the door again. She really wanted to just slip out and hide. No.Not so. Tricia took a look in the mirror while waiting for the elevator.She seemed confident and composed.Since she could fool herself, she could fool anyone. She had to grit her teeth and get through with Gail Andrews.Well, she did make the other party uncomfortable for a while this morning.I'm sorry, but that's how the game works—you already know this kind of thing.The reason why Ms. Andrews agreed to do the interview was not because she was preparing to publish a book and wanted to be exposed on TV and get free publicity.Where in the world is there a free lunch?No, this sentence is still crossed out. Here's the thing: Last week, astronomers announced that they had finally discovered a tenth planet beyond Pluto.They have long observed that the orbits of the outer planets are somewhat abnormal, so they searched for them based on these data. They have been searching for many years, and now they have found it, so they are all very happy, and everyone is very happy for them, and so on.The tenth planet was named Persephone, but was quickly nicknamed Rupert - after some astronomer's parrot, with a super tear-jerking story attached - and everything was Brilliant, terrific. Tricia, for various reasons, had been following this with interest. Later, she was racking her brains for an excuse to get her company to pay for her trip to New York, when she happened to notice a press conference where Gail Andrews had a new book, You and Your Sign. Gail Andrews isn't exactly a household name yet, but once you mention President Hudson, cream pastry, and paraplegic Damascus (the word was developed from "surgical blow." In fact, the official term It should be "Damascus excision", which means "remove" Damascus), anyway, when you mention these things, everyone will remember who you are talking about. Tricia saw a selling point and convinced her producer. According to astrology, those big rocks flying in the sky know better than you what will happen to you.Now suddenly there is a big rock in the sky that no one knew before. Now, the theory of astrology is probably going to be a little bit deflated, right? Some calculations must not count, right? What about the pile of astrological charts and planetary motion charts?We all know what happens when Neptune is in Virgo, and whatnot.This is the astrological theory of the past.But what happens when Rupert goes up?Does the whole astrology have to be done all over again?Or should we just admit that all of this is just a pile of pig food, and everyone might as well switch to raising pigs?After all, there is at least some rational basis in the business of raising pigs.If we had discovered Rupert three years ago, would President Hudson have moved the boysenberry snack from Friday to Thursday?Will Damascus stand still?Etc., etc. In fact, Gail? Andrews coped not badly.Trying to recover from Tricia's opening carnage, she brought out Sunday arcs, ascending angles, and a whole lot of more esoteric theory in three-dimensional trigonometry, hoping to take her time and fool her.Soon, however, she was taken aback and realized that she had made a complete mistake. No matter what she threw at Tricia, the other party would give back double, and she couldn't deal with it at all.No one had warned her that being a TV beauty was just Tricia's second choice in life.Behind her designer lipstick, her designer hair, and her crystal-blue contact lenses, Tricia has the brains that earned her a top-notch Ph.D. in mathematics, plus an astrophysics Ph.D. Tricia stepped into the elevator, a little absent-mindedly, and suddenly realized that she had left her bag in the room.She considered whether to rush back and get it.No.It was probably safer in the room, and besides, it didn't contain anything she particularly needed.The elevator doors closed behind her, and she didn't move. Besides, she told herself, taking a deep breath, if life had taught her anything, it was this: Never go back and get your bag. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling as the elevator descended.Don't know Tricia well enough? People at McMillan might say that's the way people look up when they're trying to hold back their tears, exactly like she does now.But Tricia was looking at a tiny video camera mounted in a corner. A minute later, she strode out of the elevator refreshed.She went to the front desk again. "I said, I'd better write it down," she said, "I don't want anything to go wrong." She wrote her name on a piece of paper in very large letters; followed by her room number, and "at the bar."Then she handed the paper to the receptionist, who looked at it. "If you have a message for me, understand?" Reception is still watching. "Do you want me to help you see if she's in the room?" he asked. Two minutes later, Tricia swung into the seat next to Gail Andrews like a gust of wind.Gail has a glass of white wine in front of him. "I think you're the type of person who'd rather sit at the bar than sit at a decent table," she said. This was completely correct, and Tricia was a little caught off guard. "Vodka?" Gail asked. "Okay." Tricia was a little suspicious, she almost asked, "How do you know?" Although the words were silent, Gail still answered. "I asked the bartender." There was a gentle smile on her face. The bartender had prepared the vodka for her, and the glass slid in front of her from the polished mahogany counter top, quite smartly. "Thank you." Tricia stirred vigorously a few times. She wasn't quite sure how to interpret the sudden friendliness, but she was determined not to be fooled by it.New Yorkers don't give you good looks for no reason. "Ms. Andrews," she said firmly, "I'm sorry if you're not happy. I know you probably think I've been a bit rude to you this morning, but astrology, you see, is public entertainment after all. Pretty good. It's as much a show as TV, and you're doing a great job, and I wish you the best of luck. Astrology is actually quite interesting, but it's not science and shouldn't be mistaken for it. I think we'll It has been successfully demonstrated this morning, and some programs for public entertainment have been produced along the way. Don’t everyone eat this bowl of rice? I can only say that I am sorry that you have an opinion on this.” "I'm happy." Gail Andrews said. "Oh." Tricia wasn't quite sure what she meant, "Your message said you were unhappy." "No." Gail Andrews said, "What I said in the message is that I don't think you are happy. I just wonder why." Tricia felt as if she had been kicked in the back of the head.She blinks. "What?" she asked softly. "Stars. When we were discussing, the stars and planets seemed to make you very angry and unhappy. I have been worried, so I came to see how you are doing." Tricia's eyes widened, "Ms. Andrews." As soon as she opened her mouth, she realized that her tone was just angry and unhappy, which would definitely seriously weaken the effect of the protest. "Please call me Gail, if you don't mind." Tricia looked puzzled. "I know astrology isn't a science," Gail said. "Of course. It's just an arbitrary set of rules, like tennis, or chess, or that weird thing you Brits have called What's going on?" "Uh, cricket? Self-loathing?" "Parliamentary democracy. The rules just popped up out of nowhere. None of the rules made sense at all except in their own right. But once you start applying the rules, all kinds of things happen. You can discover many things about people in astrology. In astrology, the rules happen to be about the stars and the planets, but it wouldn't make a difference if they were about the female duck and the male duck. It's just understanding A way of making problems gradually reveal their shape. The more rules, the finer, the more arbitrary the rules, the better. It's like throwing a handful of finely ground graphite onto a Find where the hidden imprint is. It helps you see what was written on the last piece of paper. Graphite is not important. It's just a way to reveal the imprint. So you see, astrology has nothing to do with astronomy .It's just people thinking about people. "So this morning, when you were so... so excited about the stars and the planets, I started thinking, she's not mad at astrology, it's the stars and planets in the sky that really get her mad and upset. Basically, we It's only when you've lost something that you get so angry and unhappy. I've been thinking about it a lot, but I can't think of anything, so I came to see how you are doing." Tricia was dumbfounded. A part of her brain was already busy organizing all sorts of rebuttals about how ridiculous the astrology column was in the newspaper and how it used statistical tricks to deceive people.But gradually it stopped by itself as it realized that the rest of its head wasn't listening at all.She was completely taken aback. A total stranger who just revealed a secret she had kept from the world for seventeen years. She turned to look at Gale. "I……" she stops. When she turned her head, a small camera behind the bar also started to rotate.This completely disrupted her rhythm.Most people won't notice it.It was not originally designed to attract attention.It was not originally designed to imply that even an expensive and elegant New York hotel is not sure whether its customers will suddenly pull out a gun or not wear a tie.But even though it hides carefully behind the vodka, it still can't fool the well-honed instincts of a news anchor.This intuition is specifically designed to detect when the camera is aimed at you - within seconds. "What's wrong?" Gail asked. "It's nothing, I... I gotta say you surprised me." Tricia decided to leave the camera alone.It must have been her imagination playing tricks, because all day long her mind was preoccupied with the TV.It's not the first time this has happened.She remembers walking past a traffic camera one day and feeling it turn all the way to watch her leave; another time in a department store, a camera seemed to be watching her try on a hat.She's probably going crazy.When she was in Central Park, she even imagined a bird looking at her with concern. Deciding to forget about it, Tricia took a sip of her vodka.Someone was wandering around the bar asking everyone if it was Mr. MacManus. "Okay." She blurted out suddenly, "I don't know how you figured it out, but..." "I didn't think of anything, not like you said. I just listened to you." "What I lost, I thought, was another life." "It happens to everyone. Every day, every second. Every decision we make, every breath we take, they open certain doors and close many others. Most of the time we None of them, sometimes we do. Looks like you noticed one of them." "Oh, yes I noticed," Tricia said. "Okay. Well, it's simple. I met a man at a party many years ago and he said he was from another planet and asked me Would you like to go with him. I said yes, yes. You know, that's what a party is like. I told him to wait for me and said I had to go get my bag first, and then I'd be happy to go to another party with him. A planet. He said I wouldn't need my bag. I said he's obviously from a very backward planet, otherwise he would know that women always need to carry their own bags. He's a bit impatient, but I'm not going to take him He obeyed, even if he said he was from another planet. "I went upstairs. It took some time to find the bag, and then the bathroom was occupied again. I went downstairs and he was gone." Tricia shut her mouth. "And then?" Gail asked. "The garden door was open and I went out. I saw some light, a kind of looming thing. I just saw it fly up, break through the clouds silently, and disappear. That's it. End of story. A life It's over, another beginning. But every second of this life I can't help but think of another me. The one who didn't go back to get the bag. I think she's out there somewhere and I'm walking In her shadow." A hotel worker started looking for a Mr. Miller in the bar.It's a pity I couldn't find it. "You really think this... this person is from another planet?" Gail asked. "Oh, of course. It's a spaceship. Oh, and also, he has two heads." "Two? Didn't anyone else notice?" "It was a makeup party." "Understood……" "Of course he put a cage over one of his heads and put a piece of cloth over the cage and pretended he had a parrot. He would bounce the cage and he'd do the 'parrot is cool parrot' trick , croaking or something. And then for a moment he lifted the cloth and laughed. And there was a head in the cage, laughing with him. I tell you, it was a bit worrying at that moment." "I think you probably made the right choice, dear. Don't you think so?" "No," Tricia said, "I don't think so. And I can't do my old job anymore. You know, I'm an astrophysicist. But if you do meet a guy like that, from alien Come on, growing two heads and pretending one of them is a parrot, you are not an astrophysicist. You definitely can't, at least I can't." "It's definitely not easy to see. Probably because of this, when you hear someone speaking out of tune, your reaction will be a little bit violent." "Yes," Tricia said. "I guess you're right. Sorry." "nothing." "By the way, I never told anyone about it before." "I thought of that too. Are you married?" "Well, no. It's really hard to see these days, isn't it? But you're right, because that's probably why it's there. A couple of times it's been close, mainly because you wanted a baby. But in the end They all asked me why I kept looking over their shoulders. What do you say? Then I even thought, just go to the sperm bank and try my luck. Have anyone's baby." "You wouldn't really do that, would you?" Tricia laughed. "Probably not. I never really asked, never did. The main story of my life: Never really did anything. That's why I'm in TV, I'm Guess. None of it is true." "Excuse me, ma'am, is your name Tricia McMillan?" Tricia turned around in surprise, and it was a man in a chauffeur hat who spoke. "Yes." She cheered up immediately. "Ma'am, I've been looking for you for an hour. The hotel said they don't have anyone with that name here, but I checked with Mr. Martin's office again and they said you definitely live here. So I asked the hotel again , They still said they had never heard of you, and I insisted that they call your room, but they couldn't find it. Finally, I asked the office to fax a photo of you to the car, and I looked at it myself. " He glanced at his watch. "Maybe it's a bit late, but do you want to go anyway?" Tricia was stunned. "Mr. Martin? You mean Andy Martin from NBS?" "Exactly, ma'am. Audition on Good Morning America." Tricia jumped to her feet.Thinking of all the messages to Mr. MacManus and Mr. Miller just now, she could hardly contain her anger. "It's just that we've got to hurry," said the driver. "I heard that Mr. Martin thinks he should try a British accent. But his boss is against it. His boss is Mr. Zweigler, and I happen to know that he's going tonight Going to fly to the East Coast because I'm the one who's going to pick him up and take him to the airport." "Okay," Tricia said, "I'm ready. Let's go." "Okay, ma'am. It's the big car at the door." Tricia turned to Gale. "Sorry," she said. "Go! Go!" Gail said. "And, good luck. It was a pleasure talking to you." Tricia held out her hand for the bag to pay the bill. "Damn it," she said.The bag is still upstairs. "Today's my treat," Gail insisted. "Really. It's all very interesting." Tricia sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry about this morning..." "Don't say anything. I'm fine. It's just astrology, no harm. It's not the end of the world." "Thank you." Impulsively, Tricia gave her a hug. "Is everything ready?" the driver asked, "Don't you want to go back and get your bags or something?" "If life has taught me anything," Tricia said, "it's to never go back and get your bag." A little over an hour later, Tricia was back in her hotel room, sitting on the bed.For several minutes she didn't move at all, just stared at her bag.Her bag sat innocently on the other bed. In her hand she held a note from Gail Andrews, which read: "Don't be too disappointed. Call if you want to talk. If I were you, I'd stay home tomorrow night. Get some rest. Don't Mind me, don't worry. It's just astrology, not the end of the world, Gail." Let the driver decide.In fact, the driver seemed to know more about the inside story than anyone she had met on NBS.Martin was enthusiastic, Zweigler the opposite.She only had one chance to prove Martin right, and she blew it. Oh, OK.Oh, OK.Oh, OK.Oh, OK. It's time to go home.Time to call the airline and see if it's still possible to catch the red-eye flight to Heathrow tonight.She reached for the thick phone book. Oh, and one more thing to do first. She put the phone book down, picked up her handbag, and took it all the way to the bathroom.她把包放下，拿出装隐形眼镜的塑料匣子，没有隐形眼镜，无论是剧本还是自动提词机她都别想看清楚。 她把两个小塑料片贴进眼里，心里暗想，如果生活真教会了自己什么，那就是有时候你不应该回去拿包，有时候你应该回去。只不过，它还没教会她应该怎么分辨这两种情况。