They were more real to Alette than the passers-by on the streets.
She wanted desperately to be an artist, but she could hear her mother’s dark brown voice: “You’re wasting paper and paint. You have no talent.”
The move to California had been unsettling at first. Alette had been concerned as to how she would adjust,
but Cupertino had turned out to be a pleasant surprise; she enjoyed the privacy that the small town afforded,
and she liked working for Global Computer Graphics Corporation.
There were no major art galleries in Cupertino, but on weekends, Alette would drive to San Francisco to visit the galleries there.
“Why are you interested in that stuff?” Toni Prescott would ask her.
“Come on to P.J. Mulligans with me and have some fun.” “Don’t you care about art?” Toni laughed. “Sure. What’s his last name?”
There was only one cloud hanging over Alette Peters’ life: she was manic-depressive.
She suffered from anomie, a feeling of alienation from others.
Her mood swings always caught her unaware, and in an instant, she could go from a blissful euphoria to a desperate misery.
She had no control over her emotions, and Toni was the only one with whom Alette would discuss her problems.
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