Libby looks at me intently. “You really don’t rememberanything?”
“Lib, seriously, I’m not doing this for kicks,” I grumble, irritated.
They gently guide me away from the chicken.
Libby tries to jog my memory with stories of our weekend in Atlanta, but nothing clicks.
“Okay. One more,” she says. “The date where you caught the guy talking to the lobsters in the restaurant tank? Do you remember that one?”
“What?” My brow furrows as I grapple with the absurdity. “Nope, nada, niente. But that does sound like typical date material for me.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got it. You have to remember this. When you had the shits last month and were bedridden for days? You complained about it so much.”
“Libby,” Priya cuts in. “Knock it off.”
I sigh, still traumatized by the chicken, as we trudge along the sidewalk. At least the pizza place is still standing.
Just before we turn onto my street, Priya stops me.
She chews her lip, then clears her throat. “There’s been a few more changes. Stay calm, okay?”
She’s using her lawyer voice. This can’t be good.
I stare at her incredulously, feeling the hairs on my neck prickle. “How can anything be worse than Perky Pot closing?”
“Deep breaths, Luce.” Libby suddenly grabs my hands, taking deep breaths and blowing them into my face. “Breathe with me.”
I pull away, exasperated. “Christ, Lib, that’s not helping.”
I look to Priya, the voice of reason, but all I see in her eyes is a deep weariness.
And that’s when I know. This is about to get so, so much worse.
SIX
Lucy
I’m hallucinating. It’s the only explanation.
New York fades away, all the smells and sounds of the city. All that’s left is me and the six-foot inflatable doll in the storefront window. Perfect plastic tits and red lips puckered in an O of perpetual surprise.
She gazes at me from her perch, right where the bakery used to be. Right below my apartment where the smells of warm bread and buttery pastries wafted through my bedroom window every morning.
My mouth drops open, matching her O.
My inflatable neighbor presses her palms to the glass, bright red panties smooshed against a neat stack of cock rings and furry handcuffs. The flamboyant pink wig sits lopsided on her head with a curled fringe dropping seductively over her eye.
“Is that a sex shop under my apartment?” The words whoosh out in a gulp of air. “Where’s the bakery? Where’s Eddie’s Cinnamon Rolls?” My voice fades to a rasp. I spin to face the girls. “Please tell me this is a pop-up, for fuck’s sake.”
But no one’s laughing.
Priya clears her throat, trying to sound calm and lawyerly. “Actually, Luce, it’s… more than just a sex shop. It’s a… brothel.”
I almost choke on my own spit. “Come again?”
“It becomes a brothel at night.”
“Oh my God.” I look at her like she has two heads. “I feel faint.”
