What You Don’t Know

June 29th, 2017

NEW!, Writing

yearbook

Okay, I posted the first installment of that mystery novella-type thing I said I was writing.

 

I swirled the ice cubes in my high ball glass and took a sip of my Johnnie Walker Blue, a departure from my regular Cabernet. Something about the Absynthe’s masculine decor made me want to drink scotch, grab my crotch, and adjust myself. Flipping my iPhone over, I checked the time. It was twelve after seven. Ginny was late. I’d agreed to meet her but with a caveat: I couldn’t stay long. I’d planned a late-night rendezvous with an online suitor I’d met last month and needed a nap. She’d been prodding me to meet Tyler for weeks and I was out of excuses. They’d been together but two months and he had already moved in. Admittedly, I only half-listened when she told me the story about Tyler’s father moving his boyfriend into their Park Avenue apartment, leaving no room for man-child Tyler to couch surf.

“Where else was he going to go, Sophia?” she’d asked. “I couldn’t let him go to some fifty-dollar a night death-trap in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Isn’t he, like, forty?”

“He’s our age.”

“That would still make him in his late thirties, Gin.”

 

 

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