flashback cliffhanger

here is a story julie and i started writing that i still have on my computer. i haven't changed anything. we totally left it on a cliffhanger. what should happen next?


1-21-2005
Julie’s Dorm Room
11:08 PM

A Story by Grace and Julie.

“Stop shedding. This apartment is full of hair.”

“Goddammit Julie, you know I can’t help it. It’s been several days since my last shower—I’m on the new “No Shower” diet. I’ve lost three pounds of hair already.”

Grace and Julie are sitting in the bamboo room, in their kimonos (Grace = sapphire, Julie = chartreuse) sipping tea. In the room there is:

--green wallpaper with white bamboo
--a large fishbowl with one huge koi
--lots of sunlight
--layers of Persian rugs (on which Grace and Julie are sitting, cross-legged)
--low bookshelves filled with back issues of “Typeface This Year”


There is a knock at the front door. Then the buzzer rings.

Grace rises to see who is interrupting Charade Wednesday. On her way to the door she passes:

--the candy/dressing room (cream carpeting, white and gold striped wallpaper, mirrors with lightbulbs, jars of assorted candies (color coded,
of course), cigarette cases, make-up galore)
--the costume closet (self explanatory)
--the studio (a loft like space, filled with printing presses, large easels, cabinets full of markers, stamps, embroidery thread, etc, drafting tables, light boxes, a cork board wall filled with inspiring articles and pictures etc)
--a library (with leather furniture, a large fireplace, floor to ceiling bookcases, stars painted on the ceiling, little natural light)
--the kitchen (a huge island (with stools on one side), hanging pots and pans, lots of oak, some ceramic tile (mauve)(one mosaic countertop), rhubarb polenta coffee cake, a milkshake machine, a juicer and a crate of fresh oranges lemons and grapefruits, a sizable wine rack (mostly full of
reisling)

Grace arrives at the door. On the way she has shed several more strands of hair, much to Julie’s annoyance. She opens the door and encounters .
. . a singing telegram! Four guys! Dressed like a barber shop quartet!
Red and white striped sweaters and straw hats!

They open their mouths. The short one with the handlebar moustache strikes the opening chords on the harmonica. Just when they are about to begin,
Julie interrupts.
“Who are these assholes and how did they get into our costume closet?”
As the barbershop quartet sang on, Grace and Julie Noren had a small squabble, easily solved by a scramble:
“Julie, you’re the asshole. You can’t just call them assholes. Also, I think they brought the costumes from home.”
“You’re right, Grace. I’m sorry I jumped to such harsh conclusions. What
do you say I treat you to a delicious pair of eggs, any way you like them?”
“Scrambled, please.”

Ten minutes later, Grace enters the kitchen. Julie is slaving over the stove having donned a freshly-pressed nautical outfit for the occasion.
Grace sits at one of the stools wearing her tennis whites.

The phone rings.