Here it was, the first of many lies he’d have to come up with. “Bella threw a knife at my head.” He’d do better with the next lie.

Fortunately for Alan’s sake, Frank preferred beauty over age so I had no need to defend my territory.

Antoinette had squinty eyes she could barely open under the six pounds of mascara and teal eye shadow she must’ve applied with a paint roller, and lips that were puckered on a permanent basis as if she were storing lemons in the deep recesses of her jowls. She smelled like a bull that got loose in a perfume shop, and had pointy high heeled shoes that threatened to burst out the sides at any moment from the pressure of being three sizes too small.