Cypress smiled so wide, like her hips, and the two of them gobbled up some more cottage cheese right out of the box. They began picking up their dirtied dishes and straightening out the kitchen; Cypress turned on the jazz FM station that was still into the apogee of be-bop, but was black, nonetheless, and the two of them offered themselves to the love they had for each other, improvising. Cypress would initiate a movement series and Sassafrass would respond; saucers in hand and crumbs circling their shoulders, they marked the “Sisters Cakewalk Jamboree—Delfonics style.” Sassafrass disclosed her most secret desire to get to the artists’ commune in Louisiana—the single alternative to Mitch’s frustrations and her own. Cypress wasn’t too overwhelmed by the prospect of spending time in the back bush of the South, but Cypress was a schemer too, and started finagling as soon as Sassafrass announced that all she and Mitch needed was about $800.00. Digging around in the drawer she kept all her Chinese cutlery in, Cypress grasped a thin compact with aqua rhinestones and pink-colored pearls. She opened it delicately, and her eyes just beamed. “You want a lil of this, Sassafrass?” Cypress generously held the compact of hoarded cocaine toward Sassafrass’ chin. Sassafrass turned toward her sister, almost astonished at what she had known all along: Cypress was the “Coke Lady.” Sassafrass pushed her chin back to her adam’s apple, and shook her head. “Noooo thanks, loneliness.” Cypress, with razor blade in one hand and straw in the other, had unwrapped a small piece of rice paper and was getting into her stuff. Sassafrass, who never paid much attention to time, suddenly noticed it was getting round the time to leave for the performance. Cypress had a two-hour rehearsal and then a show, and Sassafrass was going to help dress the women dancers in their elaborate costumes and fix anything looking like it might fall down in the middle of a running jump. Sassafrass got up out of her chair and started singing “Tonight’s The Night,” with all the Shirelles machinations: swivelling of hips and arms beckoning whatever lovers. Cypress could hardly stand it, and said, “Come on, girl . . . we goin’ dancin’.”