The Test by Patricia Gussin

gorgeous little sister who had more than her share. Right?”
    True, Ashley had been too busy studying. No time for fun. Too busy for dates. Too busy to get HIV.
    â€œI’m happy for you,” Carla managed, disheartened. She couldn’t tell Ashley, not tonight.
    â€œHey, I’ve gotta run. You can’t believe how many strings Conrad had to pull to get a reservation tonight.” After a pause, Ashley’s voice softened, “Carla, we do have to get together. Sometime soon. Okay?”
    â€œSure,” Carla mumbled, recognizing the threatening undertone.
We all know how bad you’ve fucked up your life
.
    Hanging up the phone, Carla lay back and wept. Wept for her mother whom she still missed desperately. The rest of the family, Frank and Meredith, to be exact, thought her too indulgent with Carla, but they were wrong. When Mom was alive, Carla had someone to talk to. Mom always understood. Carla knew that if her mother were alive, she would never have let her sink so far.
    Carla dialed Rory’s number. Rory had been thirteen when Carla was born, a second mom to her. But Carla figured if she told Rory, Rory’d tell Chan. Chan was a doctor. He’d know what to do. But would they tell the others? No, she couldn’t face the shame.
    â€œHello?” A bright young voice. “Stevens’ residence.”
    â€œBecky? Or Emily?” Carla asked, trying to sound normal.
    â€œIt’s Em. Hey, Aunt Carla?”
    â€œYes,” Carla said, desperate to hear Rory’s voice, so much like Mom’s. “Em, can I speak to your mom?”
    â€œShe’s not here,” Emily said. “Dad took her out. Somewhere in Doylestown. ’Cause he’s on call. Nobody wanted to trade on Valentine’s Day. You gotta hot date tonight, Aunt Carla?” Both Rory’s older girls liked to swap gossip with Carla about the fashion scene in New York. Styles, hot models, teen stuff, but Carla let the phone slip into her lap.
    Next thing she heard was that annoying beeping. As she reached to hang up the phone, she saw the scribbled note on her pillow. Her engraved personal stationery, Bunky’s hand.
    Meet me at the Buzz Club, Valentine. Let’s party.
    Love ya, babe,
Bunk
    With a sinking emptiness, Carla crossed the room to her desk. Her hands shaking, she fondled the bottle of sleeping pills she used to take her down from the highs. Then she cursed. Only two left. Had there been a full bottle? She didn’t remember, but she knew she would have taken them all, then and there.
    She was shaking now. Making her way to her closet, she stumbled face first into a hanging rack of dresses. Still standing, grasping a handful of garments, she selected one, a slinky red sequined number, and yanked it off the hanger. She had to find Bunky. She needed something now and Bunky would take care of her. Carla’s cravings surged as she wriggled into the dress and groped for a pair of spike heels. She needed to get fucked up. That’s all she could think, I need to get fucked up.

CHAPTER SIX
    M ARCH 2001
    â€œSenator, Mr. Schiller’s here.” Matt Cleveland plunked a thick dossier on Frank’s desk in the Senate Russell Office Building and started to unwrap a Snickers bar. “Right on time. Six o’clock.”
    â€œI’m beat. Two straight days of closed hearings on intelligence matters. Scary stuff coming on the heels of the Armed Forces Committee. All I need right now is that old man.” Frank looked up and ran his fingers through his hair. “And get that candy bar out of my sight. Here I am trying to stick to the Atkins diet, living on cheese and no-sugar Jello.”
    â€œDon’t forget you’re meeting with Senator McCain. Seven in the Dirksen Building.” No sympathy from Matt.
    â€œLet’s hope this does the trick.” Frank patted the dossier, then reached into a drawer for his stash of cashews.
    He was crunching a few when