Page 9 of Elevator Pitch

Speaking ofBlood Orange,we’re seated on the patio, enjoying the last few days of summer before fall swoops in and the darkness that accompanies it. I don’t enjoy the colder months, but I can't complain too much as someone who’s lived in states with terrible winters. What concerns me most about the season change is Francesca. She seems to be in better spirits than before.The anniversary of her dad’s passing is approaching, and I’ve noticed her drawing back. She would fight every battle alone, and we’re just not the kind of friends to let that happen.

Our co-founder, Francesca, better known as “Chess”, is our resident wild child from Staten Island. She and Audrey met a while back and started the book club. She’ll be turning thirty-two soon, and she’s our lover girl Libra. Chess is fascinating and an excellent storyteller. That has a lot to do with the fact that she graduated from Columbia with a master’s in journalism. She’s now a hairstylist who ownsChessboard, a popular salon in Brooklyn, along with her sister Evangeline.

When she’s not at work, she plays around. That’s precisely where her nickname came from, after Audrey’s favorite game. Chess loves game night and wouldn’t miss it for the world. Her competitive side comes out in full force. And if we’re playing Monopoly, all bets are off. Seeing her win is hilarious because she has a money gun to make it rain Monopoly money on us. The cleanup is annoying, but we all pitch in. Plus, it’s worth it to see her light up over her favorite board game, especially after all that’s happened.

When her dad passed last year, she lost her spark. Just recently, I’ve seen her smiling a bit more, and it doesn’t seem forced. Then again, as someone accustomed to putting on a brave face, I keep a close eye on her. Having her birthday so close to the anniversary and the holidays is just an awful time. I’m surprised to hear she went on a date this week and am hoping it was a good one. Chess could use a fucking break.

“So, I met him onSoulBlend. We agreed to meet and get drinks after work, and after hitting it off, we decided to go back to his place. We’re hooking up, and everything’s fine until I start hearing a squeaking noise. It wasn’t the bedsprings. This was different.”

“Oh, shit,” I say nervously.

“Just wait,” she says with a chuckle. “I stop hearing it, and we change positions. We get back to it, still having a good time.A great time, actually. I grab a pillow to put my face in and scream a bit. Then I feel a light tugging on my hair, which I don’t mind, so I think nothing of it at first. But the tugging continues, and where it’s being tugged doesn’t make sense for how he's positioned behind me. Since I’m bent over, I can look around from there, and I do. To my surprise, I find exactly what is yanking on my hair, and it was…um…a tiny foot.”

“What?” Audrey exclaims.

She takes a deep breath. “Hold on. I don’t want to get sick.”

“Take your time,” Eric urges, scooting his chair to our table.

She takes sips of water before she continues.

“It was a tiny rodent foot. It was a rat in his bed, but it wasn’t a typical New York rat. It wasn’tRatatouille. Itwas more like Ravioli. He was on the bed walking across my hair when his foot got tangled in it.

I screamed so loud, and the idiot thought that since I had been screaming before, it was because of him, but no. I couldn’t get much out other than the wordrat, so I just yelled that and froze. Scared if I moved too much, it would bite me. So, he stills while he’s inside me and says, ‘Oh, that’s just my pet rat, Martell.’”

“Oh no,” I whisper.

“I tell him I’m going home, and he makes no attempt to pull out. So, I grab the clump of hair and shake it gently to free Ravioli. He scurries away, and I resist the urge to barf because I had my face in that pillow, and this rat was walking all over itandthe bed at his leisure. Pet or not, I don’t give a shit. He had company over and should’ve mentioned it. I turn around and tell the guy who’s still inside me, ‘you have two seconds to pull out, or I will dislocate your jaw.’ I heard him gasp, and he pulled out immediately.”

“Oh. This was a WWAD situation,” Dayanara says.

“Absolutely,” she agrees.

WWAD stands for “What would Audrey Do?”

Anytime we need to be brave, she comes to mind.

“He’s throwing on boxers and apologizing profusely while I’m getting dressed. I zero in on the floor to make sure I don’t step on it, but I don’t see it anywhere. All I know is I can’t get out of there fast enough. Once I find my purse, I take off and head straight home to shower. It was all I could think of,” she says with a chuckle.

Eric bursts out laughing, and we join him.

I notice Chess’ tattooed hands beside me are rubbing the condensation from her glass onto her ripped jeans. She’s wearing a coral-cropped tank that compliments her tan olive skin and displays the tattooed sleeve on her right arm. Her long, dark hair is pulled into an elegant updo with curtain bangs framing her face.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” I say.

“Evangeline couldn’t stop laughing when I told her,” she says before taking another sip from her mimosa.

“You’re up,” she says over her shoulder.

“I’m not sure how I can follow that, but I’ll try,” Dayanara says as she moves her curls out of her face.

Dayanara is the newest addition to our friend group, the youngest of us at twenty-six and a Scorpio. She’s a tattoo artist from the Bronx, and like me, she started over in Manhattan after a bad breakup. She joined our book club last summer and recommends great authors. So naturally, we couldn’t stop talking about books and are all friends now.

There’s never a dull moment with her, and she brings a lot of laughs, giving Eric a run for his money. She also loves good pranks, won’t turn down a dare, and is no stranger to getting in trouble, and we don’t judge ‘cause we’ve all done stupid shit. She will pull up anytime, anyplace if you need her, and she’ll wait up until she knows we’ve all made it home safely. I’ve never met anyone quite like her. She prefers to be called ‘Daya,’ and how we all met is a hilarious story that I won’t be sharing until the statute of limitations wears off. If anyone asks, we met when she tattooed us. It’s a believable lie if Audrey doesn’t tellit. She only gets tattooed by her cousins, and everyone knows it.

“My night starts off similar to yours,” she says to Chess. “We met onSoulBlendandagreed to a hookup, but I swear this guy misunderstands the concept. He looks at me the whole night like he’s planning the rest of our lives together. The sex isn’t bad. He’s doing a bit too much with the romance, but I’m not judging. I get irritated when he grabs me to cuddle after and immediately falls asleep holding me,” she says with a huff.

We’re on the edge of our seats because cuddling is a no-no for her. She hates it. We don’t know why, but she does.

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