Eve Mozell is having a lousy day, and she hasn't even gotten past breakfast yet. Her father, a senile ex-alcoholic whose idea of a good joke is goosing his woman doctor, started phoning Eve at 6 a.m. Her teenage son, who alternately ignores and lectures her, is off to a séance. ('You know, Mom, all doors are entrances. Think about it.') And a quick glance in the mirror turns out to be a big mistake. Oh, God, is that my face?... I need a vacation. No. This is just me. Me at forty-four.
This trade size paperback is in like-new condition.