Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
Nobody tastes it when they kiss her or go down on her, because they will not allow themselves to. Her popularity is there, so her smell is not. They do not see the visual side effects of her money dirt. There’s dirt under her nails and mascara collecting in the corners of her eyes. Men have mentioned that, the nail filth and eyelash gunk, but only in the context of its being attractive. They say she is the filthy girl made flesh.
If I were a guy, and I had no nose, I would want to screw Cyrinda.
Many have, although it has never altered her continuing appeal to those who have yet to give it a try. She is the only woman I have ever encountered whose sexual exploits are, like men’s, celebrated rather than frowned upon.
She wears a different vintage top every single night and the same shorts. Not a version of the shorts but the same pair. It was a few days into her residency on Bleecker Street that I noticed strange stains at the bottom of them. The more disgusted I became by her, the more I wanted to look at her. And the more I wanted to look at her, the more I wanted to touch her.
The twins thought she had rad style. They liked that she was fat. They loved her crazy, bird’s-nest hair and vintage T-shirts. But they didn’t like her voice. They didn’t like the way she talked to me or the way that I responded.
“That girl is so fucking arrogant,” hissed the red twin, cornering me at the laundromat. “I mean, she has got great clothes. Good taste. For a rich person.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“She fucking stinks, for one thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, Ruby, I can smell her from across the street. And you can too. So tell me. Do you like her for her T-shirts? Or for her money? Because I can understand wanting a roommate who has good clothes you can borrow. But if it’s money, then that’s just dumb ’cause you made your own already. All by yourself.”
“My parents had money, I’m sorry to tell you.”
“Yeah. But you didn’t take any of it. You made it all yourself. Why is this girl so arrogant? Who is she to judge you? As far as I can see, all she does is swan around being fat with a credit card.”
“What is so wrong with that?’
“It is wrong. You know it’s wrong. Not for her. That’s probably the best her she can be. But it’s wrong for you.”