I needed a drink, and I needed it now. If Abby wasn’t at home-standing at her kitchen counter and mixing me up a tall, icy-cold Tom Collins-I’d have to kill myself.

No call for concern. The minute I opened the door to our building and began climbing the narrow chute of stairs to the small landing between Abby’s apartment and mine, I heard the ultra cool sounds of John Coltrane pulsing through her open door. Then Abby poked her head and one hand-the hand that was holding my cherry-topped Tom Collins-out into the hall.

“You’re late to the gate, Kate!” she piped, speaking in rhyme as she often liked to do, and giving me a new name in the process. She flipped her thick, black, waist-length braid of hair off her shoulder and stepped all the way out onto the landing. “Half the ice in your drink has already melted! This gunk is sunk.”

I tried to think up a clever reply, but couldn’t. My brain had melted, too. “That’s okay,” I said, wiping my sweaty forehead on my sweaty forearm and trudging the rest of the way up the steps. “I’m so thirsty I’ll drink anything-as long as it’s wet.” To prove my words, I grabbed the glass from Abby’s hand, threw my head back, and poured a good third of the diluted cocktail down my dehydrated throat.

I considered pouring the rest of the drink down inside the front of my lavender linen dress, but quickly ditched that idea. It would cool me off for a few glorious seconds, I knew, but then later-as the sugary concoction warmed to the rising temperature of my skin-I’d feel steamier and stickier than ever. And my new dress would be ruined. So, instead of giving myself a Tom Collins dunk, I guzzled the rest of the watered-down gunk. (Okay, you caught me. I don’t often speak in rhyme, but I have, on occasion-I’m thoroughly embarrassed to admit-been known to write that way.)

“Way to go, Flo!” Abby said, her stunning Ava Gardner face lighting up in a satisfied smile. Aside from drawing and painting, listening to jazz, and pursuing her bohemian interest in the taboo practice of free love, the preparing and sharing of exotic alcoholic beverages was Abby’s all-time favorite pastime. “Come on in,” she said, beaming. “I’ll make you another one.”