Ninja

The Contessa wearing all black today. Ask if she is going to funeral. Looks at me with weepy eyes and am gripped with guilt. Says, no, no funeral, black clothing necessitated by lazy bachlorettehood. Says aside from the clothes--which are all nonmatching shade of black--is in a good mood. Visited Boss last night who set her up with friends in Paris (if it is still standing, she says darkly in an aside) so that she doesn't have to stay with the Vice-Boss in the hotel room. Ask how the boss is, pre-emptively so that won't accuse self or be accused by Contessa of being Afraid of death. Looks at me steadily, He is not good, she says. He didn't get up out of bed at all. She pushes the on buttons of the monitor and computer. But I'm sure he'll pull through, she says.