“What the hell is going on?” A loud harsh voice cut through her screams. Rose whirled around—and dropped the wine and the steak from ‘21’ on the floor. China and glass shattered as creamed potatoes, peas, steak, and wine combined together in a mess at Rose's feet. That was when she started to cry. She cried for the weeks of waiting for a phone call that never came. She cried because she had humiliated herself in front of the clerk at Hershemer's. She cried because Bobby was probably sleeping with someone else. She cried because it looked like she wasn't the right girl after all.

Meanwhile, the owner of the loud harsh voice was eyeing her warily. The girl—although she was so flat-chested and her features were so large and craggy that at first it was hard to tell if she was a she—stood in the doorway of the apartment across the hall.

“You coming down from a trip? Dope or something?” the girl asked with minimal sympathy. “ 'Cause if you are, you can't do it here.”

Rose fought the tears and got them under control. She flashed the girl a look that was meant to mix dignity with disdain, but unfortunately she was still making little sobbing noises. “I'm not taking drugs,” she finally managed to choke out. “I'm just… a bit upset.”

This seemed to reassure the girl, and she ventured out into the hallway. It was hard to tell how old she was because she was so skinny, but Rose guessed she was about Bobby's age. She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater that was far from clean, and a pair of tight black pants that hugged her scrawny hips and jutting pelvic bones—the pants could have used a trip to the cleaners, too. Her blond hair fell below her shoulders in strings, and what seemed to be circles under her eyes were actually the remnants of blue eyeliner and mascara. She was holding an evil-smelling cigarette that Rose thought was French; either a Gaulois or a Gitane.

“I'm trying to find Bobby Manning,” Rose said.

The woman was staring at her again. “You're the new one, aren't you?” she said. She picked her way through the slop on the floor and held out her hand. “I'm Tristesse—that's my stage name when I sing.”

“I'm Rose.” She decided there was no polite way to avoid the tobacco-stained fingers and shook hands with Tristesse.

“Bobby's right—you are gorgeous.”

He had told this creature she was gorgeous. That was something … no, it was more than something. It was a lot. In spite of the two weeks of hell she'd just been through, Rose's heart started to beat a little faster. She decided to overlook the comment about being the new one. “Do you know where Bobby is?” she asked.

“You mean he didn't tell you he was leaving town?”

“What?”