The two women enter the elevator.
“I have a date in an hour.” The taller of the two pushes the button for the sixth floor.
“I know,” she says. She’s the older of two, with lighter, shorter hair, and her mother’s light blue eyes.Her jeans are newer, comfortable, but not so comfortable they make her look like a tomboy. The green t-shirt she’s wearing has a low scoop neck, but she manages to wear it without thrusting her entire chest out. The black jacket is fitted and her shoes are a pair of practical, but sparkly sneakers. “You know how I know? I know because you’ve been going on about it since you got in the car.”
“I keep telling you so you don’t forget,” the taller woman says. She has a slender figure, standing about two inches taller than her older sister, but that’s because of the thigh high boots she’s so fond of. Her dark hair is longer and carefully styled to get that just-out-of-bed look. Her jeans are worn, with a golden, rusty look to them and the tank top she’s wearing is a dark red. There’s of a hint a lacy, black bra peeking out from the top of the tank top. The brown overcoat that she’s wearing is about three sizes too big and looks like it’s been to Hell and back; it originally belonged to their father, with whom she shares the same dark brown eyes.
The older sister watches the numbers above the door light up as they pass each floor. She taps the rolled up manila envelope against her thigh in beat with a silent tune. “You keep telling me because you take some kind of perverse pleasure in tainting my soul with your tales of sexual debauchery.”
The younger sister laughs. “Oh, that’s good. Which one of us lost our virginity to Ricky Mason, the star quarterback, behind the bleachers after the championship game?”
“One time,” the older sister says, holding up her finger. “One time.”
“You can only lose it once.”
“Oh? Because, as I recall, you managed to lose it three separate times to three different men over four years.”
“But that was long after your dalliance with the star quarterback,” the younger sister argues. “As the youngest, I took my cues from you. I was very impressionable.”
“Is that what they call it?”
“All I’m saying is, I’ve got a date in a hour,” the younger one says. “I have a date with a very attractive man who does something with numbers.”
The older one looks at her sister. “Something with numbers?”
She shrugs. “Honestly, I wasn’t really paying attention. The man has an ass that won’t quit. What else matters?”
“Being able to pay the bills.”
“I don’t need to pay the bills if I get cute men to pay for my bills.”
“It’s not exactly a free meal for you, though, is it?”
The younger sister shrugs. “I don’t know. It seems like a pretty good deal for me. Free food, free sex. Sounds like an excellent night to be a woman.”
The elevator reaches the sixth floor and the sisters step off. The eldest takes a moment to get her bearings and then heads left. “You’re going say something about being a feminist now,” she says.
The younger sister nods her head. “Lipstick Feminism.”
“That’s not a thing,” the older sister replies, checking apartment numbers.
“It’s a thing.”
“You made it up.”
“I read about it online.”
“Oh, I take it back,” the older sister says. “If it was online, it must be true.”
They stop in front of 610. The door’s already open.
The younger sister checks the hallway. “Nobody’s here yet.”
“It’s a fresh one,” she replies. “We’ve got at least twenty minutes before the police show up.”
“Horrible response time around here. Remember that cop I dated a few years back?”
“The one with the funny face?”
“He did not have a funny face,” the older sister says.
“It was all scrunched up,” the younger sister replies. “Like he was always in the middle of a stroke.”
The older sister shakes her head. “You’re so mean.”
Shrugging, the younger sister replies, “He had a funny face. Not my fault.”
“He used patrol out here,” the older sister continues. “The roads are so twisted up, takes cops at least twenty minutes to get anywhere.”