“What part?”
“The whole fucking thing.”
She snorts.
I glance over.
“No, seriously. I just …” I gesture toward the screen. “I never really thought about it before.”
“Thought about what?”
“How dangerous going out to clubs can be for women. They just went out to enjoy an evening. Blow off some steam.”
Her expression softens. “Yeah.”
I frown. “I mean, obviously, I know bad things happen. But hearing all that …” I shake my head. “It’s fucked up.”
She takes a sip of her drink. “It is.”
The documentary keeps playing.
Some retired detective talks about predators looking for isolated targets. Women separated from friends. Women walking alone. Women whose drinks were left unattended.
I stare at the screen.
Then at Jovie.
Then back at the screen.
“Do y’all really think about that stuff all the time?”
She laughs. “Of course we do. All the time.”
I frown. “All the time?”
I take a drink. “That’s bullshit.”
She settles deeper into her pillow. “Before I go somewhere, I think about where I’m parking.”
I blink. “Parking?”
“Yep. I make sure it’s close and well lit so I don’t have to walk across a dark parking lot alone.”
I stare at her.
She keeps going. “I think about who I’m going with. How I’m getting home. Whether my phone is charged. Whether my location is shared with somebody.”
I let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“In big cities, it’s not just clubs,” she continues.
The documentary fades into the background. Now I’m paying attention to her.
“It’s walking home from dinner. Getting on the subway. Taking a rideshare. Getting in your apartment elevator.”
I stare at her. “The elevator?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. If a strange man gets into an elevator with me, I’m on alert. A lot of bad can happen in ten stories.”
