my sister, Carla, taunted with a grin when I entered the kitchen late that morning, “the queen finally decided to leave her royal bed.” “I was tired,” I muttered. I still was in fact, thanks to a sleepless night. One brought about by Anthony Carboni. Crossing the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and then walked over to the refrigerator to pour myself some orange juice. The toaster popped and Carla walked over to grab the two slices of toast sticking up from it. “Sorry I missed your big day.” Carla and a few of her girlfriends had gone to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. “Believe me,” I said, “you didn’t miss anything.” “So is Anthony still alive and kicking?” “Temporarily,” I replied. She laughed. “You two are so funny. Why don’t you just hook up with him and get it out of your system?” I choked on the drink of orange juice I’d just taken. “What?” “Don’t play dumb with me, Gina. You know you want him.” “You’re crazy.” “No, you’re crazy – about Anthony.
