She turned her attention to the boot. She had long hair again, almost too long. It fell over her shoulders and onto her chest long and straight, a diffuse honey color that made it look like a photograph of moving water taken with a long exposure. She had on a denim jacket, a thin black t-shirt. Since she couldn’t get off her boots, she still wore the tear-away miniskirt from the last gig she did in Brooklyn. Freddy looked at her. “What? What are you looking at?”
“Nothing” he said.
She glanced down to make sure her boobs weren’t sticking out.
“I was just thinking, maybe now’s a good time to retire.”
“Will you quit it with this Frank Jr. stuff? Retire!” she said.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to go to Bali?”
“I said that. Once. Like five years ago. How did you remember that anyway?”
“If it’s something you want to do, you should do it, now.”
“Finn would never go.”
“Forget Finn. You said you were going to travel the whole world and write about it. You were going to swim the English Channel like a romantic poet; you were going to live in Paris and write. What happened to all that?”
“I don’t know. I had kids. I had to earn a living. Pay bills. The usual stuff.”
“I could go with you. You could still do it.”
“Yeah right.”
“No seriously. I’d love to go.”
“And what about Debbie? Would she go to?”
“Forget Debbie.”
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