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done without.
                  Life went on, and so did Saskia's business. SaskiBlue's Hair Extension How-Not-To's got up to six pages of comments before they petered out. Being Youtube, a lot of it was garbage, but there were also a lot of calls to see more from her, and soon.
                  Saskia had more than enough research ahead of her to keep her distracted. She would be more than just another beauty blogger, but that meant having a mind for science and history as well as ambition. A stroke of inspiration hit her, and she began working feverishly on a comedic video sketch about ancient Egyptians and their use of eyeliner, comparing it to women in 21 st century America. She painstakingly mapped out the video editing ahead of time, confident this was going to be her best work yet.
                  Almost a week went by without a glimpse of the man from upstairs. Curiously, she did not hear him either. From the night of their encounter onward, the apartment above hers was silent. Saskia might occasionally hear the footsteps of one going about mundane activities, but that was it. The sounds from above had been frightening at first, but now their absence was what made the nights seem huge and foreboding. An ominous silence, yes. That was how she described it. She took to staying on the phone with her father and Stacey as late into the night as they would let her, so she wouldn't have to face that silence alone.
                  Saskia knew the problem was not merely a lack of sound. She felt like her lover had abandoned her; left without saying a word. Without the sound of the hellish play, she tried to carry on with her own fantasies, but it was not the same. All it did was make her long for what had been. Her workday was relentless, her nights unfulfilling.
                  On the sixth day, Saskia hit a bit of a creative block on the latest text blog she was writing. To clear her mind she chose to get up and head down to the lobby to check her mail. Few things are more desolate than an empty mailbox. Saskia usually dreaded the prospect. Today, however, there was, indeed, a letter waiting in the ancient brass box. But it was not for her.
                  She nearly discarded it, thinking it had been intended for a previous resident who no longer resided in her abode. Then she saw the apartment number was not actually her own. The letter was addressed to one Fabio De Lucca, and the number corresponded to the apartment directly above her own. No return address lurked on the plain, white envelope to explain its origins.
                  It was for him.
                  Saskia Bergen had never even thought of opening another person's mail before. She had once been a good person who respected others' privacy as paramount. But that was before New York, before Fabio De Lucca and his wild nights that she had to overhear. She reasoned that, in a way, he owed it to her. He had taken from her both innocence and propriety. Taking another one of his secrets was only fair.
                  Once back inside her apartment, Saskia carelessly tore the envelope open and fanatically perused its contents. In the end, she had to reread the correspondence several times, its contents so outside her realm of experience that her comprehension skills needed time to catch up. What she beheld was essentially a contract of sorts between this Mr. De Lucca and a woman named Dominque Presnal. Saskia knew the name. She was an heiress who had married young to a prominent New York politician many times her senior. After his passing, she had kept her name in the news by serving on the boards of various non-profits and even dabbling in politics herself. Her contract with Mr. De Lucca – apparently in the midst of some sort of re-negotiation – entitled her to call on him for certain services.
                  Services that could end a politician's