After a few moments, Pearl roused herself and sat up. Her face was high-blood-pressure pink, her hair as stiff and dry as straw. She’d bleached it blond once upon a time and what was left had worked its way down to the tips. In the wake of her drinking binge, I could tell that many of her elementary body parts were in full mutiny. I didn’t feel sorry for her, but I could identify to some extent. She must have felt she’d been stricken with a tropical disease, some hideous malady she’d done nothing to deserve. I could see her looking inward, perhaps measuring her nausea level on a scale of one to ten. I would have pegged her at a six and rising.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked.

She said, “Man, oh man.”

She ran a hand across her face and peered at me as though the light hurt her eyes. “Where’d you come from?”

“Back from Bakersfield.”

“How’d it go?”

“Not that well. What about you?”

“I think I picked up that stomach bug that’s going around.”

“It’s a bad one from what I hear.”

She held a hand up. “Hang on a sec.” She pushed herself to her feet. She pressed two fingers against her lips and walked with great purpose toward the ladies’ room, speeding up as she got closer. Even with the door closed, I could hear the misery. Such are the charms of drink. Dandy would be lucky if he managed to sleep for a while, letting his body metabolize the excess alcohol in his poor beleaguered system.

Pearl was moving slowly when she returned. I could tell she’d splashed some water on her face and I was hoping she’d had a chance to rinse her mouth. She eased herself back down on the couch by degrees as though her back had gone out on her.

“Word has it, you and Dandy got eighty-sixed from the Dugout,” I said, mildly.

“Won’t last. You know why?”

“I’d love to hear your analysis.”

“Guy’s got a big heart. Besides, he likes me.”

“He’d have to.”

“Anyway, what’d we do to him? Hey, so once in a while we mess up, but who don’t? . . . doesn’t,” she said. She slid a pained look in my direction and I imagined I was the only thing standing between her and another round of sleep. “You stop by for some reason in particular?” she asked.

“Just wondering where you were. Last night I went over to St. Terry’s to see Felix.”

“Bummer,” she said. “I been there for hours. Anyone tell you that?”

“I heard you were faithful as a hound.”

“You got that right. You don’t happen to have any Vicodin.”

I shook my head in the negative.

“Percocet?”

“Fresh out,” I said.