Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Julie knocks on Carol's door like someone who lives for catching others off guard. The moment Carol lets her in, Julie gets straight to it. She saw all the young women slipping out of Carol's house at odd hours, and her mind went straight to Carol's husband. She's sorry to be the one to say it, but the facts are the facts. Her lips curl as if delivering bad news tastes sweeter than it should. Carol listens without a flinch. Then she tells Julie the truth: the women come for her. Julie's face goes blank. Apologies tumble out, half-formed and clumsy. She swears she never meant to meddle. Carol doesn't buy it. She knows the kind of woman Julie is, knows she keeps more than one secret about the neighborhood. She wonders out loud how many of those secrets might survive a long talk with her husband. Julie freezes. She promises, fast and shaky, that nothing will leave this room. Carol nods once, says that covers one thing. Then she names her price for the rest: Julie on her back, legs open, mouth quiet. Julie's protest dies before it forms. She swallows, nods, and starts to unbutton her blouse, the deal already sealed.