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“Did your mother really die?”
“Yep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
I hear her rustling around in those black silk sheets. She pats the side of the bed. “There’s plenty of room here.”
I heave myself onto the mattress and promptly fall into a greasy sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Hey, I found some food,” Miranda exclaims. She places a box of Ritz crackers on the bed and we dive in.
“I think we should walk up to Charlie’s.” I brush my cracker crumbs off the sheet. “He’s got the biggest apartment.” And we’ve been stuck here for hours. I don’t know how much longer I can last.
“No,” Samantha says adamantly. “I’d rather starve then let him see me like this. My hair’s dirty.”
“Everyone’s hair is dirty. Including Charlie’s,” I point out.
“Listen. What we talked about last night, we don’t ever tell anyone, right?” Miranda says.
“I still can’t believe Marty only has one testicle.” I take another cracker. “That should have been a tip-off.”
“I think it’s a plus,” Samantha says. “It made him work harder as a lover.”
I feel around in the box for another cracker. It’s empty. “We need supplies.”
“I’m not moving.” Samantha yawns luxuriously. “No power, no work. No Harry Mills trying to look up my skirt.”
I sigh and change into my last clean pair of scrubs.
“Have you decided to become a doctor now?” Samantha asks.
“Where’s your stethoscope?” Miranda hoots.
“They’re very chic,” I insist.
“Since when?”
“Since now.” Hrmph. Apparently neither my sexual experiences nor my sartorial choices are much appreciated around here.
Miranda leans toward Samantha, and with an excited squeal demands, “Okay, what’s the worst sex you’ve ever had?”
I throw up my hands. When I slip out of the apartment, the two of them are howling with laughter about something they’ve dubbed “The Pencil Problem.”
I wander aimlessly around the Village, and when I spot the open door of the White Horse Tavern, I go inside.
In the dim light, I discover a few people sitting at the bar. My first reaction is one of relief that I’ve found someplace that’s open. My second is dismay when I realize who’s sitting there: Capote and Ryan.
I blink. It can’t be. But it is. Capote’s head is thrown back and he’s laughing loudly. Ryan is hanging on to his bar stool. Clearly, they’re both severely inebriated.
What the hell are they doing here? Capote’s apartment is only a couple of blocks away, and it’s possible he and Ryan got stuck at Capote’s place when the power went out. But I’m surprised to see them, considering Capote’s extensive alcohol collection. Judging from the looks of them, I guess they ran out.
I shake my head in disapproval, gearing up for the inevitable encounter. But secretly, I’m awfully glad to see them.
“Is this bar stool taken?” I ask, sliding in next to Ryan.
