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auburn hair was her best feature, and when she bothered with makeup, which was rarely, she could look genuinely glamorous. Unlike Kim, Carmen had never recovered from her addiction.
    Soon after they met, the pair of friends was literally taken off the street by Father Sean Darby, a young priest assigned to Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Ybor City. He had campaigned hard with Catholic Social Services for a drug rehab program in his parish, documenting the rise of drug-related crimes in the neighborhood. One scorching summer night, Kim and Carmen, stoned on coke and liquor and looking for their next fix, stumbled into Father Darby and offered sex for cash. The priest, clad in street clothes, simply ushered them into his storefront rehab center. Kim began to recover, and the politically astute priest used his connections to get her a scholarship at the University of Florida, where she excelled in her communications major. Carmen, however, could never beat her cocaine habit and still lived from job to job out on the fringe.
    Today, Carmen looked clear eyed and perky. She wore a haltertop with matching slacks in bronze and black patterns and her hair was arranged in a trendy French braid secured with a black ribbon. As Kim splashed water on her face, tenderly fingering the deepening bruise around her eye and cheek, she wondered why her friend had come over so early. Impromptu visits like this usually meant Carmen needed something — money, usually — but Carmen also knew that Kim often slept until noon after her late TV gigs. Something was wrong, she knew it.
    â€œHere, sweetie.” Carmen handed Kim a mug of black coffee. “As usual, you don’t have milk or cream, so I’m having mine, ugh, black too.”
    â€œSorry. Can’t risk the calories.” Kim yawned as they settled at the table in her small alcove of a kitchen. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
    â€œHoney, we need to talk. Where were you last night?”
    â€œWhat do you mean? I was on the news, in front of all of Tampa Bay.”
    â€œNo, I mean after,” Carmen persisted.
    Kim frowned. “Why?”
    â€œFrankie called looking for you.”
    â€œShit, no.” Coffee leapt from her cup as Kim lurched forward. “What time? What did you tell him?”
    â€œI didn’t know what to tell him. It was two thirty, and I’d just walked into my place. At first I thought maybe you came over, that you two’d had another fight after what he already did to you the night before. But what could I say? I said I didn’t know where you were.”
    â€œUh-oh,” Kim exhaled.
    â€œHe was pissed. I mean freakin’ uptight.”
    â€œHe was supposed to be in Miami.”
    â€œSaid he stopped off at the station to say good-bye first. How sorry he was, flowers and all. Some flunky kid at Channel Eight said he thought he saw you go off with Steve Nelson. God, Kimmie, tell me that’s not true.”
    â€œHe…he knew I was with Steve?”
    â€œDamn,” Carmen leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You were?”
    â€œI didn’t plan it. I mean, I had to tell him about maybe leaving Tampa for that Atlanta job. After the other night with Frankie though,” she paused and touched her face, “I just lost it. Plus, you know how Steve always makes me feel safe — so buttoned up and all. The truth is I always did want to do him and last night it just happened.
Dios mio
, if Frankie finds that out —”
    Carmen put down her coffee cup on the table. “All Frankie knows is that some kid
maybe
sees you going off with Steve, honey. He doesn’t know the rest. God, I can’t believe —”
    â€œNeither can I,” Kim cut in. “That’s not even the worst of it. His wife walked in on us.”
    â€œYou’re fucking kidding.”
    â€œI wish. Talk about being pissed. She’s harmless, but Frankie—”
    â€œWhat’s gonna