Unforgettable by Karin Kallmaker Page A

great,” she said. Rett had the oddest impression that she was being laughed at, not unkindly, but something she was doing was amusing this woman to no end.
    Something in the deep brown eyes was familiar but she could hardly say, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” in a bar. It would sound too much like a pickup line. So she settled for, “Thanks. It’s always good to have an appreciative audience.”
    The woman gestured at the empty beer bottle. “Can I get you another? Or something else? You must be feeling dehydrated.”
    “I’ll take another beer, thank you.” Rett instantly regretted accepting — it wasn’t like her, actually. She usually would have refused. Usually, she would have been halfway home by now. She didn’t want to go home. “Even though water would be better for me, you’re right.”
    “I knew a singer once who was a fanatic about drinking water.” The woman waved the empty beer bottle at the bartender and held up two fingers. She rearranged herself so she was sitting on her leg, then leaned comfortably on the bar. “They never make these things for the height-impaired.”
    Someone called, ” ‘Night, Angel!” and the woman waved.
    “It was a coworker’s fortieth tonight. We didn’t expect such a nice evening of music. We just wanted to embarrass her into a public display of her Diana Ross impression.”
    Rett guessed Angel was about her age. She was just making conversation when she said, “I hope someone will take me out on my fortieth,” then realized it was a major-league depressing thought. It was only a week and a half away, and no one would be taking her out. Forty. Forty and alone. Not even a brother or sister to tease her mercilessly.
    Angel’s lips twitched. “I sincerely doubt you’ll have any trouble finding someone to do that for you.”
    “You’d be surprised.” Shut up, Rett. God, was there anything more pathetic than pouring out one’s troubles to strangers in bars? The beers were delivered and she took a long swallow and sought frantically for something cheerful to say.
    “Spoken like someone on the rebound,” Angel remarked. “Sorry, that’s really personal,” she added quickly. “I just recognized the tone of voice from my own recent experience.”
    They shared a wry, mutually sympathetic smile and more beer. Someone turned up the jukebox and the noise somehow made it easier to talk. Rett offered to buy another round but Angel demurred.
    “Two is my limit — goes right to my head. I do impulsive but usually wrong things.” She was looking at Rett when she said it, and that small gleam of amusement was back.
    “I only have a walk home,” Rett said. “So I think I will have one more.”
    “Feel free, please. I hope I didn’t sound preachy. Everybody tells me I tend to do that.”
    Rett laughed. “Friends are so supportive, aren’t they?”
    “Colleagues are even worse, especially when they have one more master’s degree than you.”
    Yikes, Rett thought. Angel was some sort of brain. “What do you do?”
    “I’m a research fellow at UCLA. DNA, human immune system, cancer, those sorts of things.”
    Rett could tell that Angel had dumbed down the subject for her. She wasn’t that backward. “That must be fascinating.”
    “Fascinating and frustrating. I also do a little bit of teaching, but mostly it’s research. Petri dishes, microscopes and genetic sampling.” She munched on a pretzel. “We isolated the gene that creates the predisposition for uterine cancer. That was exciting, to say the least. Then our funding got cut in half. The life of a researcher in a nutshell.”
    “You have it almost as bad as a performer.”
    “Gluttons for punishment. A performer’s career has a pretty big upside, you must admit.”
    “If there is an up.”
    “I hear that.” Angel’s eyes flickered with intensity. “There’s a pretty big up for a researcher if you’re in it for the love of the project. I want to be there when we unlock the last