Chapter Thirty-One
The room wasn’t as large as the apartment over Peg Leg’s garage, and it reeked of bug spray. A heat-pump under the window overlooking the parking lot rattled, and the faded green bed spread needed replaced. Above the drawer chest, a large mirror had cracks and frosted glass.
Sally Ann Summerfield, draped in a white towel, tucked and tightened above her breast shelf, parted the louvered blinds and watched Randy Davis haul Ms. Robin Anderson from a blue van, pull her along the sidewalk and up the stairs to the second floor.
Like a scene from a soap opera, the boy jerked his middle age meal ticket along by the arm, her red stilettos clicking like tiny exploding firecrackers, and her skin-tight purple leotard undulating in time with the twist of her hips.
Sally Ann expe
