Did they spaz out on your or something?" asked Lindsey smiling."No not really, they just refused to answer my questions about Chris and they really acted like it some kind of state secret what he did for them. Sometimes that brain trust really gets on my nerves," said Dusty smiling back at herAs Lindsey nodded knowingly at him, the other women were looking lost among themselves. Stick and butts? Spaz? State secrets? Brain Trust? They were confused.While they had no problem admitting as one that. “Somewhere to be tonight, chérie?” She turned, smiling pertly.“My friend Marie—the one I’m living with,” I closed up the cash register, “She got us into this ritzy gallery opening in Mile End. She knows the curator, I think.”I tried hard not to overemphasize the word knows. I roomed with Marie during our final year of undergrad at McGill, and since dropping out of my Master’s program just eight weeks in, I’d been sleeping on her sofa. In the entire time I’d known her, I think she’d spent less. She had given the courier a small tipfrom the left pocket of the apron she had been wearing. The courier hadwished her all the best and had walked back to his van. It left the veryhumble townhouse neighborhood.She, once, had been younger and had known so much more about life.She was older now. Her hair was salt and pepper and hung lifelessly. Herforehead was wrinkled: age and worry. Her eyes were tired. Cheeks thathad once burst with colour were now splotched and pallid. There was nosmile on. I stopped and looked at him in surprise.“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, a little afraid.“You’re doing a good job babe, continue with it,” I said as I kissed him again. Then I took off his shirt and sat up, and unhooked my bra. I slowly took it off one strap at a time to tease him. I took it off completely then and out fell my 36Ds. His eyes opened wide as his hands quickly cupped my boobs.He started squeezing them and pressing my nipples. “Go slow. They’re all yours,” I said, trying to.
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