After Maisie left Cilla thought seriously about that kitchen maid job. She had only about two hundred dollars left and with Brian in the asylum, she had no idea when he'd be able to earn more to support her.

She decided she'd definitely be looking for a job - that one, or almost any other that provided a high degree of decency. But first she was intent upon going to the dance with Marie on Saturday. It had been years since she'd been out to a party of any kind. Brian just wasn't the party-going type.

On Thursday she went to visit him.

This was her third visit to the Mission Avenue asylum, St. Augustine's. Going there was depressing because some of the people she saw were so far gone mentally it upset her to watch their strange behaviors. Brian, however, was not all that weird. To outward seeming he was just the same, but before going into St.Augustine's he'd carefully ripped to shreds every shirt he had, saying he was sure the devil was talking to him from inside the threads.

He smiled when he saw her approaching, but then as if he remembered he should be angry instead the smile faded from his face and he took on a contemptuous air.

"Hello Brian." Cilla sat in a chair across from him and tried to get him to make eye contact.

"I want out of here," he said. He looked at her but it wasn't friendly.

She sighed. Apparently he still thought she was the cause of his problems.

"What does the doctor say about leaving?" she asked.

"He said he's not ready to decide when that will occur." Brian looked at Cilla as if to say, its your fault, so do something.

"I love you Brian," she said.

"That's not enough. Get me out of here."

"I'll see what I can do," she said, "but for now I need to go. Maybe next week you'll be happy to see me."

She left then, not sure whether she'd bother to go back the following Thursday or not.

As soon as she entered the main door of the hotel she wished she had somewhere else to go. Maisie was in the lobby complaining to the manager again.

"Don't you ever clean your sheets right?" Maisie said, "and why do I have to live right next to George Hodges?"

Maisie never ran out of things to complain about and Cilla wondered why the manager didn't throw her out on the streets.

Cilla rushed to get to the staircase, hoping Maisie wouldn't notice her. But too late.

"Cilla, I need to talk to you," she said before Cilla could get half-way to the first landing.

Cilla slowly turned to look at the older woman. "What is it, Maisie?" she asked.

"I've got to talk to you in private," the woman said.

Cilla sighed. That was the last thing she wanted.

"Hey, what's in your bag?" Maisie asked. Cilla didn't want everyone to know her business.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "I'll be in my room if you want to talk."

"No, I want to talk to you now."

"Well then, come along," Cilla said, and led the way to her room, a small hole-in-the-wall at the back of the hotel. She unlocked it and put the bag on her bed. The sheets were plain white and the walls were plain blue. She saw the maid had been in to change sheets and left two wool blankets folded neatly on top of the pillow. It wasn't much of a home but it would have to do for now.

"I went to visit a friend," she told Maisie, who stood in her doorway.

"Looks like you don't have much here," Maisie said, looking around.

"Not much," Cilla agreed. "What did you want?"

"I need some help getting food this week," Maisie said.

Cilla thought about it. She didn't have much food herself. "I noticed a sign in a restaurant down the street," she said. "They need a kitchen maid."

"What's that supposed to mean," Maisie asked.

"You could work and probably eat there too."

"You think I'm no better than a maid?" Maisie asked.

"Well, don't you need a job?"

"Not there!" Maisie said. "Why I used to dance down on Montgomery Street until the police forced the saloon to close. I don't suppose you know about places like that though."

"I probably would know," Cilla said, "but I've never had to work. I'm thinking now that an honorable job as a kitchen maid might do me fine."

"Then you go do it," Maisie said. "Work your pretty fingers to the bone. And bring me home something to eat, would you?" she laughed, then turned and left.

Cilla was grateful to see her go. She was especially glad that Maisie forgot to ask what was in the bag.

Cilla is left walking downtown from Nob Hill while the author takes a break to participate in a November writing marathon called NaNoWriMo. The author will return eventually. You're welcome to view her home page to see how her other novel projects are going.

The author of Cilla's story hopes you enjoy this walk in the overcast, chilly weather of San Francisco in November. A storm is brewing, but try not to be distressed. After the storm, there's fun to be had at the dance.

Cilla pulls her cloak closer around her as the wind increases in velocity. Her hat is nearly blown off, and she must reach out to hold it to her head. Her other hand clutches both the collar of her coat and a bulky bag with a dress in it. She hurries as quickly as she can.

A cable car rumbles past, but our Cilla has no money for that.r other hand clutches both the collar of her coat and a bulky bag with a dress in it. She hurries as quickly as she can.

A cable car rumbles past, but our Cilla has no money for that.