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handle of the door, but was effectively blocked by the uniformed man. “Can I help you?” he asked, bringing me back to New York.
    “Um, yeah, I’m here to see Rebecca. I’m moving in.” I started to walk past him to the open the door.
    “Sure you are. Look kid, you should move along.”
    “No, I swear.” I pulled out the scrap of paper that she’d scrawled her address on. “She gave me her address. This is her building, right?”
    He smirked at me. “Don’t make me call the cops, kid.”
    “Can you call her or something?”
    With a face of stone, he calmly replied, “I don’t even know if she lives here.”
    My jaw dropped. He had to be messing with me. She was beautiful. You didn’t miss a girl like that. “Seriously? She’s about my height. Long blonde hair? Gorgeous eyes? She’s a famous model.”
    I looked at the paper again and saw her phone number. “Do you have a phone? I’ll call her. You’ll see.”
    Without even looking at me, he said, “Pay phone is on the corner.” He jerked his head to the opposite corner where there was a phone booth.
    I trudged off, adjusting my bag on my shoulder and digging out a dime to call the number on the scrap of paper. Three minutes later, the doorman was holding the door open for me looking more than a little annoyed.
    I got off of the elevator onto the 22nd floor and saw a door wide open, just as Rebecca said she would do. Light and music was flooding into the hallway. Hesitantly, I walked to the door and stepped inside, then closed the door behind me. I leaned back and looked around—stunned.
    The song Hot Stuff by Donna Summer surrounded me, making me laugh remembering that this very song was playing on the car radio after I had talked to Penny and quit Thompson’s Market. I looked over at the giant speakers that were blaring the tune; a high end stereo system. And right next to that, a huge record collection. Nice! Looking around the apartment, it was like something you’d see on a prime time TV drama that Jenny used to watch. Yup, Rebecca was loaded. She was an inspiration. I hoped I’d be able to afford something like this next year on my own.
    Everywhere I looked, white, modern furnishings were meticulously placed and everything was as neat as a pin. Low, white, leather sofas with straight lines that looked rather uncomfortable. And the arms of the chairs were wooden, more like end tables attached to the piece of furniture. Funky shaped, white plastic chairs with circles punched in them arranged around a glass dining table. The floor was a thick white carpeting. Silver domes were attached to the wall with light coming out from behind them. This was a far cry from the roach motel, or my parents house with paneling, peeling paint, and wallpaper, furnishings that were broken or worn to within an inch of their useful lives. I decided to slip my boots off and leave them by the door.
    Suddenly, Rebecca was walking into the room, and seeing her was almost more shocking than the apartment. She was wearing low slung, loose pants and a lacy, black bra. Nothing else. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel propped up on her head. Presumably, she’d just come out of the shower and had no makeup on, yet was perhaps even more beautiful than when I had seen her both times before. She was sipping on a martini glass as she entered, and dancing to the music.
    I was suddenly desperate for a cigarette. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the box, and started to shake one out.
    “Nuh-uh. Not in my place you don’t. I’m not a smoker, and if you want to live here, you won’t be one either. Those things will kill you, ya know. Find another vice—a clean one,” she scolded, boring her eyes into the pack of Marlboros in my hand.
    What? She was one of those people? Yeah, smoking was on the decline, but seriously, what was the big deal? All those movements to stop smoking because some Surgeon General said it’s bad for you and a group of people had this idea that