"Okay, let's say we were both pissed off-and I'm not supposed to let anything bother me, doctor's orders. I know who you are, you're my number one, Montez, my walking-around guy. Okay?"

He let it hang there until Chloe said, "And you're our Mr. Paradise."

Lloyd brought them alexanders in crystal lowball glasses they took upstairs with their coats and handbags. They'd have a cigarette and a drink while they fooled with their makeup, did something with their eyes. Chloe led the way to a bedroom. They put their coats on the bed and went in the bathroom and looked at themselves in the mirror, Kelly saying, "'And you're our Mr. Paradise.'" She leaned over the sink and poked a finger into her open mouth a few times.

"It's what you do," Chloe said, "you're a mistress."

"What do you think Montez said to him?"

"He probably called Tony Jr. an asshole. You're keeping the sweatshirt on?"

An extra-large that Chloe loaned her and hung below her cute skirt.

"If it was just the old guy I might take it off. I'm not showing my tits to the help."

"Because they're colored guys?"

"I went with a black guy once, a professor at Wayne, an intellectual type. He really was, but he said 'You understand what I'm saying?' about every other sentence. I think to let me know he was street before he got educated, knows wazzup."

Chloe said, "I've usually had a good time with colored guys. When they're cool they're really cool. Like Montez, the way he gave it back. That was cool."

"Yeah, well, I broke up with my black guy, he was so fucking boring. I said, 'Look, just assume I understand what you're saying. If I don't, I'll tell you.' And, yes, I'm wearing the sweatshirt."

"It's way too big for you."

"So?"

The old man didn't seem to mind the sweatshirt, since it was from U of M. He said he liked it when they jumped up in the air. They did the stupid cheers, "We're the girls from Mich-i-gan:" and acted nasty in cute ways.