“I bet Dot would tell you it’s all about sex.” Stephgiggles.
I thwack her with my purse. “Gross,Steph.”
“Well, why do you think she’s on that thing every night? People only exercise to look goodnaked.”
“Steph…”
“I told you I saw her at The Yeah-Yeah Club last weekend on some twenty-year-old guy’s lap. Pretty sure he was giving her ahickey.”
“Stop!”
“Extreme Cougars of New Yorkor something—that’s a show, you know?” Steph gives me a playfulshove.
“And on that note, I’m going tobed.”
Poison’s “Every Rose Has its Thorn” cuts on when I shove my key into the door. As annoying as it is, I can’t bring myself to complain. I’m pretty sure Dot’s half deaf and has no idea how loud it is anyway. The noise only amplifies when I step into the small foyer. Most people envision elegance when they think of a brownstone—at least I always did. This one…it’s nice enough, but it’s not exactly anything to brag about. The wallpaper in the foyer is peeling at the corners, and a few of the spindles on the wooden staircase are loose, but it’saffordable.
I figured if a seventy-year-old woman with electric-blue eyeshadow felt safe here, I should be fine. So now this ishome.
With a sigh, I climb the stairs, humming along to Dot’s musical selection for the night. At least the racket is partially drowned out when I step into my apartment and shut the door. I kick off my ridiculous wedges and go straight to the bedroom where I collapse on the bed and grab theremote.
My phone chirps, and I check my text from Steph.See. Extreme Cougars ofNYC.
Attached to the text is a picture of Dot sitting on the lap of a guy who looks to be at least ten years younger thanme.
Wow…
