Claire and Maggie pulled out of the liquor store parking lot. Claire hardly looked before cutting into the street, speeding back toward Maggie’s place, just a few more blocks over. Although Maggie was a little unnerved by Claire’s driving, she thought to herself, with rebellious apathy, “ah, who gives a fuck.” They were stocked up for a night of drinking, more to drink than the two combined were capable of consuming in one night, more to drink on a Tuesday night than was necessary, the girls didn’t worry about anything else. Each sat down with a cocktail, Maggie turned on some music, a little too loud at first, it would get louder once the booze kicked in. Claire went from sitting to standing, again and again, poking at her face, performing an interchanging dance of facial expressions, from posh pose to disgust and disappointment. “I’m breaking out. My face is breaking out again. Can you see it?? Do I look like a monster? Haha.” “Shut up and sit down, Claire. Quit looking at your fucking face.” Claire sat down. Music played. "I wish someone would kidnap me. Kidnap me and fuck me. And leave me for dead.” Claire spoke with a smile but Maggie knew she meant it. “Sounds romantic.” It was Maggie’s way to be so wry, but she really did love this about Claire. The scum, the dirt, the sex, and degradation. That’s what she looked for in friends. Maggie laughed at Claire. Claire laughed back.

               “Have you ever heard of blah blah blah? I love a femme fatale. I mean a real one,” said Claire. Maggie wasn’t really listening.  She’d checked her phone about four times in the last twenty minutes. “Bring it over, let’s watch it.” Maggie said. “I don’t have it,” said Claire, poking at her face in the mirror. “Fred told me he was taking me to the movies this weekend. He was over last night. We stayed up all night. He’s so sweet. I talk about Fred too much, don’t I?” Claire glanced at Maggie through the mirror. “No, you like him,” said Claire, after some hesitation. Maggie finished another cocktail, took her glass to the kitchen, and filled it with ice. “Need another one yet, Claire-Claire?” “Not yet.” “He hasn’t hit me up at all today. I don’t think he likes me. I told him I wanted a kid someday, last night. Now he hasn’t tried to get a hold of me all day.” “Whatever, he likes you, I can tell.” Maggie smiled. “I want to tell him I’m in love with him.” Maggie sat back down, slurped out half her cocktail. The ice settled. “I can’t though. Because he won’t say it back. He’ll reject it. I think he loves me. He said he loves my voice. But I don’t think he’d say it back.” Maggie nearly finished her cocktail. Claire sat back down. “I don’t think I can love,” said Claire. “You just need to find the right guy,” said Maggie.

Claire went to fix herself another cocktail. Maggie called from the other room. “I’m not going to text him first. He’s got to show me that he wants me, too. I mean, I know he does, but he doesn’t want to show it. I think he’s afraid of getting hurt.” Claire came back with her new cocktail, poked around at the stereo. They sat drinking and talking about film noir and sex. Maggie looked at her phone. “Oh, Fred liked my picture. He’s so sweet.” “See, I told you he liked you,” said Claire. “I think I love him. Should I tell him?” “How.. What would you say to him?” Claire sat poised with her hands on her knees, back straight. Maggie’s eyes shined. “I don’t know, I guess.. I’d say, ‘I’m in love with you, Fred.” Maggie’s head kicked to the side, a dreamy look in her eyes, but only for a moment. “But I’m not fucking going to. He wouldn’t say it back.” Claire stood to face the mirror. Maggie crossed her legs and leaned back. Her phone rang out a text message alert. It was Fred.