My night had been restless, haunted by the memory of surrendering myself to a man who was so deceitful and hurtful. How could I have been so needy? So stupid? The unwanted throbbing in my heart and between my legs had made it even more difficult to fall asleep. Groggy, I kicked off my covers, slipped on my plaid flannel bathrobe, and staggered to the door. Jo-Jo trailed behind me. I peered through the peephole. Lauren! What was she doing here? I’d never known her to be up before noon on a Saturday or venture west of Fifth Avenue or south of Fifty-Seventh Street. Her world was confined to the narrow rectangle bordered by Seventy-Ninth Street on the north, Fifty-Seventh Street on the south, Madison Avenue on the east and Fifth on the west. Within this realm, was every designer store that had Daddy’s credit card on file. “Where have you been?” she asked, barging into my apartment. “I’ve left you a hundred messages.” Ever since we’d been roommates at the Rhode Island School of Design, me on a full scholarship and she there, thanks to Daddy’s substantial endowment, Lauren had always put her needs and desires above everyone else’s.
