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Show 25 at her door, with a comment about the weather or the state of the wofld, with a request for the time or a glass of cold water. And still he never expected anything more than the usual pleasantries, common tenant courtesy, in return. They they had come together, made love late one afternoon after she offered him a cold beer instead of water, pulled him into her apartment with her radiant smile and fluttering blue eyes. It had not mattered then that the couch was lumpy and full of erupting springs. But now things were complicated. Her name was Sparkle. That's what she had written, in flowery blue Magic Marker, on her mailbox. No last name. After they had made love that first time he had asked her what her name really was. Under duress-Fogarty literally, if playfully, pinning her small body down on the couch-she had admitted another. But the next day he was alarmed to discover he had forgotten it; and in his chagrin he had never been able to ask her again. Now things were complicated because her rent was due, more than due, nearly two months late. August was nearly over. Jackson, the Newgate's owner and Fogarty's boss, was already concerned; and now Fogarty, the Apartment Manager, stood sweating and miserable in the late afternoon at Sparkle's door. As Apartment Manager he did not feel welcome over the threshold. "Look," he was saying, "you know I don't personally give a damn, but Jackson is going to have my ass if you don't come up with something soon." "I couldn't come up with cross-town bus fare at the moment," |
