Slow down. Take your time, she said. You don’t have to be in such a rush. Bring me my drink. Frank walked over the red Oriental rug with a gin and tonic. Set it there, she pointed at the end table. When was the last time you were with a woman? I mean, a real woman. Not some kid. Frank smiled. I’m sure you swing both ways.

What do you mean? Frank asked.

Don’t be coy. You’ll fuck anything for money. I know your type. Hand me my purse.

He handed the  broad a Chanel black bag. One hand wiped the gray hair from her face while the other rummaged through brushes, tiny mirrors, lipsticks, Rouge, powder, and folded hundred dollar bills her husband had given her.

Here, she said. Will this do? She waved a hundred in the air while Frank looked at pictures of her in younger days; a blonde on a boat wearing a bikini; an older man’s arms wrapped around her.

Yes. That will do. Who’s the guy?

My husband. Back when he could get it up. Now he just throws money at me. Apologizes and tells me to have a good time. Want some blow? Frank nodded yes. She cut it up on the glass coffee table with her American Express card. Took out a fifty and formed it into a tube.

Lady’s first.

The old woman took her hit like a pro. Wiped her nose and handed the bill to Frank. The white lines were gone rather quickly. And so were their (if any) inhibitions.

Do you have to leave? She asked, lying naked on the bed after their coke induced rumble in the sheets.

Yeah. My old man is waiting for me.