“McKenna told me all about how you sexually propositioned the big boss in the park. I’m a terrible influence on you.” Grenadine cackled. “Don’t make that face. I’m the one who’s going to sleep with the building owner to keep them from raising the rents.”
“This is a rent-controlled apartment building,” I said automatically. “They can’t raise rents above city-prescribed levels.”
“Just you wait; they’ll find a way.”
“Let’s try to think positively,” I said. “You sound like our boss.”
“I’d do your boss,” Grenadine hollered.
“I wouldn’t,” I muttered.
I set the leftovers down on the cot that I used as a bed.
“I can’t believe Anthym is still letting you clean out the fridge,” McKenna marveled as she scooped the potatoes onto a metal tray, dropping one down for Gizzy, who was basically a walking garbage disposal. “She never let me clean out his fridge.”
“I can’t believe he doesn’t eat any of this,” I said, taking a bite of the cake because, hey, I’d had a hard day and I’d walked up all those stairs. “A meal at Alessio costs more than my rent.”
“One man’s trash is another woman’s treasure,” McKenna quipped, stealing a bite.
“I think Anthym is trying to show Mr. Richmond”—I spat out the name—“that she’s more than just a gopher. I think she’s trying to make him think that she’s totally wife material, that she can be a good corporate spouse.”
“You think?”
Grenadine scoffed as she started washing the arugula. “Women like her? I bet the only reason she took that job was to get her shot at snagging Grayson Richmond. I used to work with girls like that back in the secretary pool. Always angling for one of the men in upper management. They would time it with their fertility so they’d get pregnant on date number three.”
“Yikes.”
“Can’t imagine anything would be worth carrying the spawn of Satan.” I scooped the duck confit into a pan on the stove and the pasta in another.
The studio apartment was too small for a microwave. I’d found one in a dumpster, but the electrical circuit had blown out when I’d tried to plug it in, so we heated food the old-school way, according to Grenadine, like they did in the seventies using a plate with tinfoil on top.
The steam keeps the food nice and moist, I told myself.Every cloud has a silver lining. Every single cloud.
Even the depressing cloud named Grayson Richmond?
Even him.
“Who wants a corporate robot?” Grenadine added as the apartment filled with the mouthwatering smell of duck-fat-fried potatoes. “Me? I’m angling for a hockey player. You know, one of those big dumb brutes with a cock the size of an eggplant.”
I crossed my legs and winced.
Grenadine patted me. “You’re making that face because you’re still a virgin. Just you wait.”
“Grenadine, you’re not going to find a hockey player,” McKenna said with a groan.
“She might. She just has to believe in herself,” I reminded my friend.
“Damn right. Dream big. You’d be surprised. Older women are very popular on porn right now.”
“La la la!” I stuck my fingers in my ears.
“Branch out, Lexi. You can’t get off on a Disney movie,” Grenadine lectured me.
The potatoes were sizzling in the oven, and the duck confit was steaming on the stove. The studio apartment was cozy and warm. Who cared about having a huge penthouse with a pool? Mr. Richmond’s penthouse would never feel homey, even if he did lose his mind and have all the fireplaces lit.
McKenna cleared off the card table and dished out the leftovers.
“Damn,” Grenadine said after taking a bite. “I think I just orgasmed.”
