The Many Faces of Marilyn by Author DeAnn DeVille

CHAPTER THREE

The Library of Savannah was a massive place. The books seemed to tower up to heaven. Beautiful angelic art work lined the walls, while thick ivory pillars held up its roof. Marilyn hid safely behind one of the pillars adjacent from the Xerox copier. She flipped through several states local newspapers, copying articles of interest. The local library was a glitch in her matrix. Usually she was in and out of town in a flash. Visit Silas, drop Annette some cash then, off to a near by town to do her research on her next job. A plane would have been easier, but not for Marilyn. Advance technology had done wonder in her pockets, but she wasn't exactly ready to trust her life on flying objects. Often she'd tell her self that if God meant for her to fly he'd have given her wings like he gave her the gift to steal.

Knowing full well if she were Catholic she'd be doing ten Hail Mary for the mere thought God gave such gifts as thievery. She looked over the Xerox copies.

"Ten different cities in five states, I'm sure to find something suitable in the want ads and local news."

After arranging them neatly in her briefcase she opened the yellow pages and thumbed through the motel section. Marilyn always loved Savannah during the mid August season. She intended on walking the beach tonight and eating a fine southern cuisine.

She paused on page six of the paper hearing footsteps behind her.

"Marilyn Sumter is that you?"

Hesitating a little before turning and making contact with the strange voice, she closed the phone-book slowly, and then looked up.

"Do I know you?" (She looked the girl up and down from head to toe, for a hint of recognition. Then frowning at the zero denominators, she quickly turned away from her to gather her briefcase and Gucci satchel.)

"Do you know me? Why heck yeah, you know me. It's been years but I still recognize you. Of course I married the quarterback Harold Channey, and I've gain a pound or two, but all in the right places, for sure."

(The girl's accent was absolutely southern, and it had stricken some memory but Marilyn still couldn't put a name to the face.)

"Yeah um..."

(The women saved her by finishing her sentence.)

"It's Gina...Gina Cottonfield-Channey."

(A tiny grin formed at the corner of Marilyn's mouth as she realized how silly the girl sounded hanging on to the family name and her family name. It was an old Savannah tradition.)

39

"Oh I'm sorry are you still just Sumpter or have you taken on another name now, as well?" "No, I am just and always will be a Sumpter only...umm...Gina."

"Well, that's odd, but you always were an odd bird, Marilyn.