Chapter 11: All These Things That I’ve DoneMy heart pounded so hard in my chest you’d have thought the sound would echh the whole damn apartment blobsp; Oside, though, I looked cool and collected . . . a little self-absorbed, maybe. That’s the kind of chick I figured dy was. Girls that look the way I do usually are. She trotted along beside her auntie, fiddling with her hair, her other hand unsciously resting on her purse. Living iy, she’d learo keep her possessions close to hand. Maybe she’d been robbed ged a year ago; it left her slightly nervous at night. But that instinct wasn’t instinctive yet. Every sihing I did was calcuted and thought out, every fug heel-toe step, every sideways g ‘Auntie’, even absently pig a piece of peach-coloured fluff off my sweater.

  The hallway was dingy, dark ay. Scuffed aper curled up at the edges. There was that unique smell of mixed ethnic cooking and stained carpet on to cheap buildings where too many people live in too small a spabsp; A lone baby’s cry rang out, muffled, from the far end and tly cut-off. There was a shout, voices raised in argument. God, I couldn’t wait to get out of here. This wasn’t dy’s kind of pce at all.

  We waited for the elevator. I hadn’t even realized we were on the fifteenth floor. K--sorry, ‘Auntie’--checked her purse.

  “Gum, dear?”

  “Nah,” I said, then figured dy robably the gum-chewing type. She was a blonde, after all. “Um, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  When the elevator arrived there was a guy on it, carrying a undry basket full of assorted crap. The lights flickered overhead, one of the cheap florest tubes gohe other soon to follow it. In the dim light of the small space you could faintly hear the muffled music of the boy’s headphones. There was no hiding a on--other than the one all men carried--in those loose grey joggers and wife-beater. His eyes zily danced across the two of us before happily settling on my cleavage. The er of his lips tugged up in a smile.

  Butterflies in my stomabsp; Fug hell, I had a goddamn flock of seagulls in there now. I felt a warm flush of embarrassment slowly spread up my ned fabsp; I must’ve been glowing redder than Rudolph’s fug that jackass sure as hell didn’t notibsp; He had other things to look at. K didn’t bloody hesitate or nothing; she just stepped on to the elevator. Thing is, right then, stepping into that elevator and following her seemed like the most difficult thing in the world. Yeah, I khis moment had to happen. There wasn’t much point iing all dressed up if nobody was ever going to see me. I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t ready for this. I needed another hour or two prang bad forth in that apartment.

  “ing?” K’s voice, that of the long-suffering parent, snapped me out of it.

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that Auntie. Blonde moment!” I trotted into the elevator and stood o her. My knees wao knock together. I couldn’t believe how nervous I felt. For chrissake, you’d think it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. But to step in front of that teenage prick, who was no doubt cheg out that firm ass of mine, really did take an effort of Herculean proportions.

  The doors slid shut. They were mirrored on the inside, dirty and defaced but suddenly frontih the reflected dy. And, yeah, just as I thought: that jackass was sg the goods.

  “dy? Push the button?” K . . . uh, Auntie, was rummaging through her purse for something.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  I watched the reflected dy as she stepped forward with one delicate, high-heeled foot and reached out with her slim arm. Soft curves shifted beh her sweater and she gently pressed one pinkly-glinting fiip against the first-floor button. “Down we go,” she said in a throaty purr.

  “How’re you feeling?” her mother asked.

  dy gave a soft ugh. “Fine, fine. Just a bit spacey.” With a practiced flick of her head she tossed the long sweep of her blonde hair over one shoulder and smoothed it back with a quick stroke of the hand. dy gave a stretch, absently scratg at an itch beh her right breast, and then took in a deep breath and released a loud, bored sigh. The boy’s eyes stayed glued to every jiggle of her tits like a fly on shit.

  Eight floor. dy gnced back at the boy behind her and licked her lips. She gave a secretive, wet smile. ‘Hi,’ she silently mouthed to the boy.

  His eyes widened in surprise. I’m sure a bulge propped up his pants.

  “What’s that you’re listening to?” she asked. Those brilliant green eyes lingered for a sed down below before drifting up to his face.

  The kid’s gaze kept sliding down to her tits. “Uh . . . The Killers,” he said, surreptitiously shifting his undry basket over his swelling crotch.

  “Wow, how retro!” dy excimed. “I just love them, especially their old stuff, though I guess all their stuff’s old stuff, right?” She giggled. “Y’know, like that one song, uh . . . .” She gave a few chews on her gum, and then hummed a line. “How’s it go? ‘I’ve got soul but, uh . . . . Oh, I’m no good . . . you know whie, yeah?”

  “All These Things That I’ve Dohe boy stammered.

  “Yeah! That’s it!” dy gave a little pout, her pink lips shiny in the dim light of the elevator. “Oh, poo . . . now I’m gonna have that song stu my head all day!” She turned back to the front, but her eyes glinted in the mirror, still watg the boy. Her aunt looked bored with the whole affair, as if she’d seen it all before. They reached the lobby and the doors opened.

  dy stepped out, giving a little wave as she went. The boy stayed on the elevator but struggled with himself for a moment, visibly building up ce.

  “Hey, waitasebsp; Hey, my name’s . . . .” he started to say, but the doors closed and cut him off.

  “I couldn’t give a fuck,” I growled, walking away.