I started at Vogue two days ago. I wouldn't be surprised if they fired me, with the way I was performing, just going through the motions. No matter where or when I looked, Stacy wasn't at her usual hang outs. I don't know when she moved, but the super said her apartment was empty now. Finally, for the first time since she left that bar, I knew where she was going to be. Don Cattaneo's wake was today. She was probably there already.
"What? Just say it and get it over with, Ken. It's bad enough that one of my best friends won't even answer a text, much less see me. Don't give me the silent treatment too, for the love of God," I begged as Kenny walked into the kitchen that morning, still looking at me like I killed his dog.
I probably looked like s**t. I couldn't eat or sleep. Between getti
