Novel peek

Just a bit of my nanowrimo novel.
Unedited, of course!

***

 

Becky groaned but it was put on. Eisler was gorgeous and often entertained other gorgeous interesting guests. The man himself was off limits. He was an early conquest of Sophie’s when she first moved to the city. They weren’t sleeping together anymore but every once in a while they’ll find themselves alone, drunk in a bed, and soon, naked. Eisler was smart though, with a cartoon pilot smile and really good forearms. Becky didn’t mind just talking to him. Even though she was older than Sophie and had a year on her as far as New Yorker status goes, her sister knew way more people. Both Clean girls were attractive, personable, and pleasant. They each had an air of sincerity about them that most people thought was rare in any individual these days; people gave time to them. But Sophie could turn something on, work some thing that really drove people crazy for her. She had a lot of friends.
“Don’t give me that. Put on that one dress with those tights, mascara, yadda yadda yadda.”
“I want to wear jeans.”
“God, fine. Then wear jeans. I don’t care. Just come. Please. I need back-up tonight.” Even in begging Sophie didn’t have a ton of inflection. She put it on when she needed to.
“I want to, honest. But I blew Sharon off last night and we’ve been trying to get together for nearly a month.”
“Sharon’s a flake.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been flaky too. I feel bad. We’re meeting for lunch and I just know she’s gonna try and pull me to some bar.” Becky got up, letting Creole plop to the floor. She started to pace the short length of her apartment. “I don’t want to go to Brooklyn tonight.”
“Then don’t. Invite Sharon. Hang out with her after lunch and I’ll come by. We’ll all go together.” Sophie paused, collecting her thoughts. On the other line there was a light chatter. “Hey do you have that dress?”
“That dress?”
“The gray one. The one we trade all the time. Um, Karen got it at St. Ignatius…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Becky was at her closet now, but she didn’t open the doors. She leaned her head against it and pulled out her scrunchie. “I don’t have it. You have it.”
“Fuck. No, I totally don’t. I’m going to open your closest and it’s going to be the first thing in there.”
“I’m hanging up,” Becky walked back to the love seat and shooed Creole off the table. He was swiping at papers, just because. She put the phone back on the table and turned on speaker again.
“Are you coming?”
“Sure.”
“I swear to god, don’t let Sharon pull you to some bullshit hipster arcade bar thing.”
Becky couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Bullshit hipster bars’ were Sophie’s bread and butter when it came to socializing, especially with guys, though she’d be loathe to admit it. Creole hopped onto the table and nosed the phone. He mewed.
“Kisses,” Becky said reaching to press ‘end’ on the phone.
“Love–” Sophie’s voice was still flat as Becky hung up. She shrugged her shoulders and exchanged a look with Creole. The cat promptly pawed the phone from the table and it skittered loudly across the floor.
“Hey.”
He meowed back and walked off the table full of swagger, tail flipping.

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