He licked his lips, scowled at the taste of stale vomit.
He slurred, "Hello, Di."
Dian Fuller said, "Hi, Don."
He said, "I must've blanked out. Guess I've been hitting it too hard."
She laughed at him. "You mean you don't remember all the things you've been telling me the past two hours?" She was obviously quite sober. Dian never had been much for the sauce.
Don looked at her narrowly. "What've I been telling you for the past two hours?"
"Mostly about how it was when you were a little boy. About fishing, and your first .22 rifle. And the time you shot the squirrel, and then felt so sorry."
"Oh," Don said. He ran his right hand over his mouth.
There was a champagne bucket beside him, but the bottle in it was empty. He looked about the room for a waiter.