Chapter 9
In between getting to know sources on my new beat and coming up with materials for my columns, I soon put my boss’s lesbian sister and her lover out of mind, until my doorbell rang on a pleasantly warm March Saturday afternoon two weeks before Easter. I almost did not open the door when I looked through the peephole and saw this white girl standing on my stoop. Then, I remembered how I knew her.
“Hey, Yvette, do you have a hammer I could borrow?” Erica asked. Wearing her hair in a ponytail and old school black rimmed glasses, she looked like she should be selling magazine subscriptions to pay for college instead of soliciting for tools. Most college kids I know do not wear shirts featuring a picture of a buxom woman with a ready smile and a nametag that says Monique with the ta
