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Show Woodworth/185 The buzzer rasps again, shortly. How persistent will he be? Then she hears someone on the stairs. Fuck. Her fault. When she came in, she must not have closed the outer door tightly enough. Quietly, she checks her front door- Locked. She tiptoes away from it, and sits quietly on the couch. The steps come up to her door, and someone knocks. Suddenly a chill grabs her. What if it isn't Gary? It could be the cab driver from last night. It could just be someone who had seen her standing on the street, or who had followed her home from work. If she screams, there probably won't be anyone in the building to hear her. She thinks of the woman in the apartment across the alley, but doesn't dare turn to see if she is there. The sofa may squeak. The knock again. Almost simultaneously, a voice calls, "Marty?" It is him. "Marty?" he calls again, and taps on the door- She hears him.turn, the steps retreating. The wooden sound of his feet on the steps. The whine and slam of the downstairs door. She walks quickly to the window, and sees his back as he walks up the street. He walks jauntily, lightly, as always. As she watches, he turns, watching two girls who pass him. Why hadn't she answered the door? She could have been late to work, she's done it before. She doesn't really need a shower. She could run after him. But it's too late now. He's turning the corner. He'll come back later. He'll come back later. Why hadn't she answered the door? TGI Friday's is Boston's answer to New York's East side. The impossibly high heels, the false eye lashes, coated with mascara. But one thing is sure about Friday's. Two women |
