Chapter Six
Afghanistan says we’ll take you but must convert to Islam
Parramatta beware, lions and hyenas hunting in packs – one whole street eaten
Boats at dock but gangway rage kills sixteen
Sydney burns! City blocks alight for first time
Power still off – WEA starts classes in milking cows and rabbit skin sewing
Tuesday woke at three a.m. and sleep-walked to the bath. She couldn’t wait to have a long soak in two centimetres of fresh water to scrub the porridge out of her toe nails but there was a queue outside the bathroom.
Her father sat against the door with her mother’s head in his lap. They were fast asleep. Louise and Margaret rocked the toddlers in their arms, chatted in Persian, and carried toilet bags the size of lawnmowers.
“Is everyone waiting?”
Her father’s third wife opened one eye and nodded. She was slumped in the kitchen rubbish bin, her breasts covered in body paint. She yawned and went back to sleep, snuggling into a pillow of discarded tea bags.
The bathroom door suddenly opened and her parents tumbled inside. Audrey and Ginny giggled and stepped over them. They pressed past Tuesday, talking animatedly, and hurried back to their bedrooms to sleep.
Tuesday sat cross-legged in line grumpily and waited with her head in her palms.
When she woke, she was curled up in the foetal position on the cold tiled floor and Margaret’s daughter, Fatima, was chuckling and drawing her dribble on Tuesday’s cheeks.
Everyone sat at the dining table watching Tuesday and laughing. Tuesday glanced at her watch groggily. Six o’clock. The water supply had long been cut off.
“Tuesday! You’re awake!” Her father beamed. “You looked so cute, we couldn’t bear to wake you!”
Tuesday clenched her fists. “I smell of porridge!” She yelled.
Everyone stared back at her very puzzled except for Ginny who simply smiled and licked her butter-covered fingers.
Tuesday stomped up the stairs and grabbed her bikini. Now she had to take a dip in the green polluted human waste previously called sea water.
Outside the sky was a brilliant white. On the front porch the flowers had been eaten, the balloons had exploded into shreds, and two red kangaroos fought over an empty chocolate box on the footpath.
As usual, Clovelly Beach was packed with old men in Speedos with everything hanging out. Tuesday averted her eyes and stepped into the seaweed-thick brine. The gropers had bred like crazy. Their fins thrashed through the weed around her and they brushed their bulbous lips against her skin.
Out of the water she waited until the vitamin rich seaweed slime had dried on her body and then she had a sand bath, rubbing the dirty grey sand over her skin to remove the goo. Up at the kiosk she joined a line of similarly sand-covered people waiting for the public jet-propulsion fans to blow the sand away. It was all such an arduous task but it was free and afterwards one could claim to be extremely clean.
Once she was home, Tuesday felt much better. Her skin had an algae-like shine and she felt more energised. So what if her best friend was ignoring her? Tuesday had her whole family here to support her. And so what if she couldn’t have Tom? She would come to love Bill eventually. And so what if no one liked the way she took photos? She was onto something much more exciting.
Tuesday put on her favourite dress which was imprinted with her own photos of dead fish. The dress hugged her figure, tied at the waist, and ended in a fifties style skirt. She slipped on plastic ballet shoes and glanced at herself in the mirror. If anyone could look like the black, bald, cheap version of Grace Kelly, Tuesday could.
She rang Esther and was pleased that Tom hadn’t picked up the phone.
“He’s out,” said Esther, sounding disappointed for her.
There was no movement across the road at Anthea’s house and no sound from Tom’s bug at all.
“I’m bored, Tuesday.” Complained Esther. “Can you come round and play Uno?”
“I’ll come round soon,” Tuesday promised. “There’s something I have to do first.”
Tuesday hung up and rang Mr G.
“What cha got?” He scowled, his voice breaking like knee sockets under the weight of a heavy club.
“Um. Nothing yet.”
His disappointment washed over her like a bad smell.
“But uh, something’s just about to happen.”
“How d’ya know that?”
Tuesday swallowed. Because she suspected if something didn’t happen soon, she would have to pick up the telephone in the future with her feet.
“Because Anthea’s acting very suspiciously.” Tuesday nodded. “She has secret maps in her house.”
“Tom told me,” growled Mr G. “Tell me something new.”
Tuesday cursed at Tom. Now she had nothing. “Well, uh, I can tell she’s very in love with her new man.”
“WHAT!” Mr G screamed.
“Yes,” continued Tuesday, “she’s mad for him. Over the moon.”
On the other end of the line Mr G’s throat gurgled and he struggled for breath. He sounded like the Great Dane next door after it had attacked and killed a teddy bear.
“How do you know?” He screamed.
Tuesday thought quickly. It had to be something good because she was about to hit him for her next pay cheque.
“Well, yesterday I followed her into a beauty salon where she had a Brazilian.”
Mr G imploded on himself. “SHE FUCKED A BRAZILIAN?”
“No. No. She didn’t sleep with one, she had one. She, uh, you know, had all of her pubic hair ripped out.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Mr G sounded puzzled. “All of it?”
“All of it. Every last hair. Anthea is now completely bald down there.”
“But why would she do that to herself?” Mr G protested. “She had a luxurious coat of thick ringlets that swung between her thighs! It was like a forest of Lantana that glistened in the moonlight from front to back! Finding her vagina was like searching for a lost treasure! My fingers got trapped in it like spinach in my teeth! Nothing compared to her great furry bush! My face was often wedged in that wonderful bird’s nest that enveloped her from belly button to coccyx and more than once she had to cut me free! I was in ecstasy. Ecstasy!”
Tuesday banged her head into the wall. “Because some men like bald pussies!”
“They do not!”
“They do.”
“They do not! What sort of man likes a bald pussy!”
Tuesday sighed. This was impossible. She chewed on her pen. “You know what Mr G - you’re right! What man in his right mind would want a hairless pussy? What man would trade a forest of dark mystery for the open plains of Mars?”
“Damn right.”
“You realise what this means?”
Tuesday could almost see Mr G thinking - his cabbage patch eyes moving around his office walls as if they held the answer.
“What does it mean, Tuesday?” He whispered.
Tuesday leant into the phone and paused for effect. “It’s a woman. It makes sense of course, lesbians hate pubic hair, makes them sneeze.”
Mr G’s voice was very, very quiet. “Are you saying that Anthea, my darling wife, traded in my horse-like manhood, my great pink wrinkly one-eyed water hose, my wavering wet love snake, my super charged erect lust muscle, MY ENORMOUS ENGORGED HARD HAIRY ITALIAN PENIS FOR ANOTHER HOLE!”
Tuesday winced. “Well, it’s not entirely out of the realm of reality. I really need an expense cheque for $1500 to help me find out.”
Mr G promised that one of his sons would deliver the money in cash before the hour. Tuesday felt bad for lying to him, especially when he began to cry into the phone. But business was business and Tuesday was in need of some.
Tuesday ate some of her father’s left-over Garden Snails in Garlic Sauce while she waited for her pay. The house was wonderfully silent, a scrawled note on the fridge advising her that the whole tribe were at Nielsen Park fishing for White Pointers.
When the doorbell rang and Tuesday opened the door, she was reminded of the ill advisedness of lying to Mr G. A very short pale man with very thin icy hands withdrew the money from his suit pocket and stuffed it into her hands. And wouldn’t let go. He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. But he did stroke Tuesday’s wrist with his fingernail and said ‘my, what lovely veins.’
Tuesday washed her hands several times after he left but couldn’t get rid of the emotional revulsion until she’d had a stiff drink of Guinness. She felt she needed alcoholic sustenance for another reason as well. It was time for once and for all to find out if Bill really loved her.
To her surprise, when Bill opened his front door he suggested they go out for lunch.
“You mean to the Courthouse Hotel?” Asked Tuesday, sighing.
Bill, who had carefully dressed in stylish black chinos, and smelt not of washing powder but of aftershave, smiled widely. ‘A pub lunch is not good enough for my girl, Tuesday.”
“It’s not?”
“No. Today we are having a seafood extravaganza at Doyle’s and watching the red hot embers fly up from the hills of Mosman.”
Tuesday stared at him wide-eyed. How romantic!
Bill hired a five star carriage and Tuesday sat against the leather seats with Bill’s hand in hers. They passed Tom and Swan’s house but Tuesday kept her eyes straight ahead. When they stepped out at Watson’s Bay, Tuesday watched Bill pay for the cab without complaint.
She could get used to this, Tuesday thought. Of course Bill had treated her badly before – Tuesday had been offering herself up as a free side dish. How could Bill have had room for her with Audrey as the costly main course?
Bill ordered not tea but wine. Tuesday peeked at him gob-smacked over the top of her menu and they sat back in silence and enjoyed the view with a glass of Calais Shiraz Durif. They were so comfortable in each other’s company, thought Tuesday happily, they didn’t even need to speak. They were intuitive to each other’s thoughts. Even though she didn’t really know what he was thinking and even though Bill was reading the Daily Telegraph Sports section in front of her and banging the prongs of his fork against his forehead.
Bill clicked his fingers several times in the air wildly. “Could I have another dozen oysters here for myself and my girlfriend.” He announced loudly to the waiter.
Tuesday giggled.
“Looks like Thugley’s out for the season.” Murmured Bill.
“I’m sorry?”
“Knee injury.”
Tuesday nodded sternly. “That’s a shame.”
“No! It’s good!”
“Right! Of course.”
“And Uncomfortable Silence came in at 20 to 1. Hard to believe isn’t it?”
“I find it especially hard to believe.”
“Why? Did you take a bet?”
“A bet?” Tuesday choked on her three-headed octopus. If only she knew what Bill was talking about.
“I would’ve thought you’d be against that sort of racing, Tuesday.”
“Oh, you know. Sometimes I like to take risks.”
Bill looked at her admiringly. “Well, all the baby possums had better watch out, ay?”
Tuesday nodded slowly.
Bill munched down on a boiled Water Huntsman, a celebrated new delicacy. Tuesday watched the spider’s furry legs stick out of Bill’s mouth and tickle his nose. “Look at this! The November Price Index has shattered the Dow Jones!”
“Terrible!” Commiserated Tuesday.
“Terrible? Why do you say that?”
“Um. Insider knowledge. Of the uh…inside.”
Bill leant forward and whispered. “Do you know something, Tuesday, that I don’t?”
God, she wished she did. Tuesday doubled over and clutched her stomach. “Oooh. Indigestion.” She excused herself and hurried to the bathroom.
Tuesday reapplied her lip gloss in the mirror. Things weren’t going too badly, all things considered. After all, this was their first real date and a certain amount of anxiety was to be expected. She just had to lead the topic of conversation around to common interests. Such as…Tuesday slapped her forehead.
Of course! Bill! Bill was a topic of common interest! How could she have been so slow on the uptake? If there was anything valuable her father had taught her, it was how much a man liked to talk about himself!
When Tuesday returned to their table Bill was entering numbers into a calculator.
“Look at this, Tuesday.” He held up the calculator.
“One hundred and fifty-five? Is that my share?”
“What? Tuesday! You’re my girl! You’ll never have to pay for anything again.”
“I won’t?”
A waiter appeared by Tuesday’s elbow and passed back Bill’s Visa card on a tray. “Thanks for the tip Mr Spencer! At last I can go to NIDA and become an actor!” He threw off his apron with a flourish. “I quit!” He yelled to the rest of the restaurant.
Mr Doyle, the owner, hurried over immediately. “Really, Mr Spencer, I must protest, that’s the third waiter this month.”
Bill spread his hands. “He had a dream.”
“Will you stop eating here!” Mr Doyle hissed.
Bill shrugged and turned back to Tuesday. “You see, Tuesday. I’m not a stupid man. Well – yes I am but that’s not the point. I’m rich and good-looking sure but I realise that you might prefer to go out with someone, well, you know…”
“Younger?”
Bill laughed and shook his head.
“More sophisticated?”
Bill pointed at Tuesday and cracked up. “You’re a card, Tuesday, a card. No! I mean of course, someone more black.” He shook his head sadly. “And I’m afraid that’s something I can’t be, Tuesday. I just don’t have the kind of skin that tans.”
“But colour doesn’t matter to me, Bill!”
“That’s nice of you to say so, Tuesday, but I can see through your courageous sacrifice.”
“You can?”
Bill leant in towards her. “So what I propose is…an open de facto partnership.”
“You do?”
“Sure. I pay you an allowance of $155,000 per year and you accompany me to rugby league games and cook for me and clean my house and massage my feet and wax my back hair and keep me company and you can still see other men who have the one thing I don’t.”
Bill coughed and rubbed his nose. “And I can still see Karen, Sharon, Marion, Brenda, Linda, Sandra, Sarah, Clara, Maria, and Helen. Oh, and Inge. And Barbara. And Leonie.”
Bill removed a spider’s leg from his molar. “And Nicola.”
“You mean - you don’t love me?”
“Tuesday! Of course I love you! My love’s just spread around a bit that’s all. The important thing to remember Tuesday, is that out of all these women – you’re the one. You’re the one I want to live with!” Bill picked up her hands from the table. “You’re the one I want to share my bed with. The one I want to share $155,000 of tax-free money with. The one I want to be seen with.” Bill shook his head. “The question you have to ask yourself is - do you love yourself enough to love me enough to let me love you?”
Tuesday rubbed her forehead. She was getting confused. “So you love me.”
“And I think you’re incredibly sexy.”
Tuesday blushed. “And you’ll provide for me.”
“Generously.”
“And you’ll let me have relationships with other men.”
Bill grinned and spread his arms. “So what’s there to think about!”
What indeed.
It was a relatively silent trip home. Bill dozed open-mouthed against the carriage seat and Tuesday lolled open-mouthed against the window. $155,000!
She could travel to Paris! She could buy a bicycle or a camel or a personal fitness trainer or buy a new book every day! And what she wouldn’t have to do! She wouldn’t have to take photos of plants, she wouldn’t have to apply for social security, she wouldn’t have to rub and tug at any one of Bondi Junction’s 13,000 massage parlours just to pay the rent! She could be the new and improved Tuesday Cockatoo!
Tuesday nibbled her fingernails worriedly. But could she sell the part of her that didn’t have to ask permission? Did dependence have a price?
When they arrived home Bill took Tuesday’s hand and pulled her into the cool hallway of his house. He drew Tuesday into his arms. It was the first time Bill had hugged her and Tuesday felt a little thrill of delight. And – oh no! Could it be? He was going to kiss her!
Bill’s mouth wavered and he bent his head. Tuesday licked her lips in anticipation and closed her eyes. Bill’s nose jammed into her ear and he began to enthusiastically pash her chin. She moved down to his lips but he moved up to her nose and slipped his tongue into her nostril. Tuesday moved back up again in exasperation and Bill tongued the corner of her eye. Bill’s breathing was becoming urgent and his heart raced wildly. A dribble of his saliva ran down Tuesday’s cheek.
Bill stopped for breath and nuzzled his wet lips against Tuesday’s scalp. “Was that alright for you?” He whispered huskily.
Tuesday wiped the slobber off her face and her neck and her head. It was a real kiss! His aim wasn’t very good but Bill, Tuesday suspected, needed encouragement not reprimand. “Divine.”
“Really?” Bill brightened. “Audrey said kissing me was like sticking her head in the washing machine on the rinse cycle.”
Tuesday laughed but imagined that kissing Bill was not nearly as good. At least after that her head would be clean, she thought, removing a fishbone from her nostril.
“Bill?” She asked quietly. “Will you make love to me, you know – properly?”
Bill took her hands in his. “Of course I will, Tuesday.” He whispered. “Come with me.” He led her into his minimalist living room. “You know, you don’t know the real Bill Spencer at all. I’m a little bit of a…well,” he glanced bashfully at Tuesday and looked humbly down at his feet, “a little bit of a romantic.” Bill picked up the remote control and waved it around the room. In a flurry of sound and vision, wooden shutters snapped shut across the windows, a fake fire sprang up on the television screen, and Barry White began to play on the speakers.
“And that’s not all.” Bill unfolded the Space Couch to Space Bed, brought out a bottle of Dom Perignon from the fridge, and presented Tuesday with a frozen rose from the freezer. Although Tuesday thought she could see hundreds of roses inside and thought he might have ripped off a label that read ‘Leonie’ from the stem.
“Oh, Bill.”
Bill puckered his lips at her juicily. “Oh, Tuuuuesday. I’m aching for you. Just let me get changed into something a little more comfortable.” He winked at her.
“Oh, and Tuesday,” he called from the stairs. “While you’re waiting, why don’t you ah…take off your clothes.”
“All of them?”
Bill winked then blinked rapidly. An eyelash had got stuck in his eye. He slapped his palm over his eyeball and rasped sexily. “I have a problem undoing bras.”
Tuesday nodded gleefully as Bill’s head bobbed down the bedroom stairs. She leapt out of her clothes and twirled her bra around the room. Wow! How free she felt, standing here, completely naked in Bill’s kitchen! Now - what was her best pose? She dived onto the couch, sat cross-legged on the cushion, and leant back on her hands. Ooh – risqué!
Or how about this? Tuesday stood and bent over the couch armrest with her legs spread, bum up, and her breasts swinging like water dividers to the floor. She craned her head back over her shoulders to see what her ass looked like. Not good! Thank god she had a peek before Bill saw that!
So what about something more coy? Tuesday knelt on all fours on the floor, leant back on her heels and folded her arms. Perfect! Her love flower displayed, her muscles strained, her breasts pushed up together with her arms. As if she were listening to a very important lecture and posing for Playboy magazine all at the same time. Except she wasn’t, was she? She was waiting for Bill to make love to her for the very first time. No, this wouldn’t do at all.
Tuesday bit her lip and looked around the room. Ah, she had just the idea!
“I won’t be much longer, Tuesday!” Called Bill. “Bloody spiders give me the shits!” There was a tiny poof! from the en suite, then the sound of a trumpet accompanied by the splash of military landing craft into the toilet bowl followed by a contented sigh. The toilet roll holder squeaked over and over and over and echoed up the stairs.
But Tuesday barely noticed.
What she needed was a glass of champagne in her hand as she reclined on the couch, her legs spread apart by just a hint, her head in her palm, and perhaps the tip of her tongue poking out of her mouth. And her shoes! Didn’t men love naked chicks in heels? Tuesday stuffed her feet back into her ballet pumps and rushed to the kitchen counter. She grabbed the champagne and a corkscrew. She bent and slipped the bottle between her legs and twisted the screw into the cork. In front of her Bill sauntered up the stairs in a white satin kimono.
Tuesday tried to look sexy.
“I’m just pouring us some wine,” Tuesday murmured. Her hands clasped the bottle neck firmly between her thighs. She leant nonchalantly against the kitchen counter.
“Oh, my God!” Bill rubbed himself between the legs. “What a body! Have I seen it before?”
“I don’t think so, Bill.” Tuesday walked towards him seductively, her hand grasping the corkscrew and twisting with all her strength. “Oh dear, I’m just going to have to pull,” Tuesday said breathlessly. She bent her knees, the bottle poking through her pubic hair, and tugged up and down on the cork.
Bill fell back on the couch and grasped his penis with both hands.
“Hang on, Tuesday!”
“Oh! It’s so hard!” She brought the cork up to her mouth and inserted it into her lips, tugging up and down on it with her teeth. The bottle jiggled between her breasts.
“Tuesday! Hang on…”
“Goddammit, it’s so tight!”
“Tuesday!”
“Oooh, here it comes!” The cork blasted up to the ceiling and white froth shot into Tuesday’s face and over her breasts and trickled over her thighs to the floor.
“Oooh, it’s so wet!” Tuesday squealed. She poked her tongue out and licked her lips. “Yum.”
There was a funny sound from Bill from the corner of the couch. It sounded in fact, as if he were screaming.
Tuesday wiped the sticky bubbles away from her face and looked down at Bill with surprise.
Bill’s chest was heaving up and down and his head hung lax against the couch. His mouth was slack. His kimono had fallen open and under his hairy pot belly his hands clutched his penis so tightly his knuckles were white.
His penis was…Tuesday gasped. Limp! It was limp and from it hung a single wavering drop of spunk.
Bill began to laugh. “Oh, my god! That was fantastic! That was better than when Inge hosed the garden! That was better than when Leonie hoovered the carpet.” Bill seemed to be thinking. “But not quite as good as when Clara soaped down the car.”
“Bill!”
Bill slumped further into the couch until his chin touched his chest and sighed.
Tuesday slammed the champagne down on the counter and slouched most unsexily in front of him. “What about me?” She hissed. “What about my orgasm?”
“Oh, sure,” mumbled Bill, his eyes closed, drifting off. “Next week.”
“Next week!” Tuesday folded her arms and tapped her foot. (She hated it when she did that – it was so her mother). “Why not now?”
“Tuesday! At my age! One hard-on a week’s all this little guy can take.” He flopped his penis up and down.
Tuesday leant in close to him and shouted. “You don’t have to have a hard on for me to have an orgasm!
Bill opened one eye. “Tuesday, please! Don’t do an Audrey on me! Of course I have to have a hard-on, how else am I going to turn you on enough to turn me on enough to let me turn you on?”
Tuesday narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Bill shut his eye. “Perhaps it will be more logical with $155,000 in your hands.”
Tuesday inhaled deeply through her nose and pulled on her dress. “I don’t know why I come here! I don’t know why I do this!”
Bill shook his head sleepily. “Come on, Tuesday. You know why.”
Tuesday zipped up her dress and stood with her hands on her hips. “Why, Bill? Why do I come here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Bill murmured, snuggling into a cushion. “What woman could resist a man who finds her so sexy, he comes just by looking at her.”
It was the only sensible thing Bill had said all day and Tuesday had to admit there might be a tiny bit of truth in it. Alright, a lot of truth, if the truth be known.
She was the only woman, apart from fifteen others, who could make him come just by standing in front of him! And there was something about that which made Tuesday feel very powerful and very in control, and very, very sexy.
Maybe there was a part of her that felt her finger still wasn’t quite on the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but Tuesday guessed that this was what the $155,000 was for, to turn her head away from the questions and more towards Bill’s groin.
Tuesday wandered home despondently. She still hadn’t made a decision about Bill’s offer, after all, there were plenty of women in relationships who didn’t have good sex with their partners anymore. And as Bill had said, the door was wide open to other men. That meant the only dangling carrot left to muse over was the money. The sort of money Tuesday had never had.
Tuesday trudged up to her bedroom. Under her door there was a scrawled note in Ginny’s handwriting. ‘Someone called Tonto rang. She said to tell you that the bees are revolting and returning to the hive. PS. You have weird friends’.
But wasn’t Ginny one of them? Tuesday could hear her giggling in her room. Tuesday knocked on her door.
“Come in if you’re good looking!” Ginny called.
Tuesday opened the door anyway.
Ginny and Audrey burst out laughing and Tuesday had the distinct feeling that just before she had opened the door, the topic of conversation had been Tuesday. Her cheeks flushed.
Ginny sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a bottle of Vodka and looked up at Tuesday. In her hand was a straw. On the mirror at her feet was a line of cocaine. Audrey lay opposite her, her eyes glazed, chewing gum rapidly, a strawberry daiquiri in a cocktail glass in her hands. A blender lay toppled over on the floor and squashed strawberries spilt out of it.
“HeylookatthisTuesday!” Audrey’s voice was like a staccato typewriter at a hundred words a minute. “Newdrink!” She took her straw and sniffed the coke that lined her cocktail glass like salt. “IcallittheRudolphNose.”
Tuesday nodded. “So, hey. Can I hang out?” Tuesday flopped down on Ginny’s bed, feeling like the younger sister that no one wants. “I haven’t spoken to you in ages,” Tuesday said to Ginny.
Ginny shrugged. “Spose.” She turned back to Audrey. “So anyway, my other boss says ‘Can I see you in the photocopying room? I need multiple copies and so we like, walk down to the room and he locks the door.” Ginny paused, held a finger over her nostril and dragged her straw over the mirror. She sniffed, bent her head back and rubbed her nose. She grinned back at them, her eyes glazed. “Whoa! Like, my lips are numb!”
Audrey laughed and Ginny hooted along with her. Shimmery tendrils of strawberries poked through Audrey’s teeth. The end of her nose was bleeding and she rubbed the blood over her face with the back of her hand. This made Ginny laugh even harder.
Tuesday leant into the cool breeze of the bedside fan and watched them bemusedly. As long as they weren’t hurting anyone else, she supposed. As long as they were happy – where was the harm? She smiled.
“Comeon,Tuesday.” Said Audrey. She poured some coke out onto the mirror. “Comeandgethighwithus.”
Ginny looked up at her expectantly.
“I can’t, I’ve got stuff to do. It’s funnier watching you guys anyway.” Tuesday laughed.
But Ginny didn’t seem to like this at all. “God, Tues, you’re such a kill joy! You’re so fucking… pretentious! If you’re not going to get high, why don’t you just fuck off?”
“Ginny!” Tuesday tried to appear nonplussed. “Chill out. Come on, I just have stuff to do.” She ran her hand over her scalp. Tuesday didn’t want to mention th