Dead Extra. Sean Carswell

this since before the war started. Even her wave was more of a parade wave than the flopping madhouse arms that looked like they were forever trying to wave a plane down onto a landing strip. She had all the signs of a rich drunk, someone who’d sipped down one too many gin rickeys at one too many debutante balls. Wilma decided to take a chance on her.

      The woman welcomed Wilma to an empty seat at the table. “Gertie Greene, is that you?” she asked. “I don’t have my glasses, but when I saw those flickering flames of red hair charging from the top of your head, I said to myself, ‘I’ll be damned if Gertie Greene didn’t get sent up for a little dry spell.’”

      Wilma set her tray down on the table. She wasn’t too surprised at the mistaken identity. She and Gertie had been switching roles since they were little girls. “Looks like you’ll be damned,” Wilma told the woman. “Gertie hasn’t been sent anywhere. She’s still down in Hollywood, typing up scripts that some man takes the money and credit for.”

      “What?” The woman squinted at Wilma. “Are you pulling my leg?”

      “No. I’m not Gertie.”

      “But you know her? And you look just like her?”

      Wilma nodded. “She’s my twin.”

      The woman examined Wilma, looking her up and down with the care the nurse had used in the hydro room the day before. “Well, I will be damned. Gertie did mention a twin to me before. Wanda, is it?”

      “Wilma.”

      The woman stretched out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, Billie. I’m Carlotta Bell. Folks call me Lottie.”

      Wilma shook hands. They had a half hour for lunch, regardless how quickly or slowly they ate, so Wilma turned to her stew. She sniffed it.

      Lottie said, “Best not to smell. The stew or anything. Just turn that old nose off until you’re released from here.”

      “What is that smell? It’s everywhere around this joint.”

      “Paraldehyde,” Lottie said. “I suppose that, if you don’t know it, they haven’t given you any yet.”

      Wilma spooned in a mouthful of stew and shook her head.

      “Lucky so far. If they try to give it to you, do everything you can to keep it out of your stomach. It’s a doozy. It burns going down. Before you know it, you don’t know your name anymore or where you are. You get that vacant stare. Your breath reeks. It’s the worst.”

      Wilma sipped her coffee and thought about this. “Is that what I’m smelling? Everyone’s paraldehyde breath?”