Part 11 (1/2)

”Huh?”

”Tenets,” I said. ”Tenants are people who live in your building. Tenets are principles, articles of faith.”

”Right. That's what I said. Tenets and principles and, you know, the little sayings and ideals and philosophies we hold on to to get us through the day. Karen didn't have any of those. She just had David. He was her life.”

”So, when he got hurt...”

She nodded. ”Hey, don't get me wrong, I understand how traumatic it was for her.” Her back had picked up a sheen of perspiration that made her skin glow in the afternoon sun. ”I was filled with sympathy. I cried for her. But after a month month, it's like, Life Goes On.”

”That would be a tenet?”

She looked over her shoulder to see if I was f.u.c.king with her. I kept my gaze even and empathetic.

She nodded. ”But Karen, she just kept sleeping all day, walking around in yesterday's clothes. Sometimes, you could smell her. She just, well, she just fell apart. You know? And it was sad, broke my heart, but again, like, Get Over It.”

Tenet number two, I figured.

”Okay? I even tried to hook her up.”

”On dates?” I asked.

”Yeah.” She laughed. ”I mean, okay, David was great. But David David is a is a vegetable vegetable. I mean, hel-lo! Knock all you want, n.o.body's home anymore. There are other fish in the sea. This ain't Romeo and Juliet Romeo and Juliet. Life is real. Life is hard. So, I'm going, Karen, you got to get out there and see some guys. A good lay maybe would have, I dunno, cleared her head.”

She looked back over her shoulder at me as she pressed a b.u.t.ton on the treadmill console several times and the rubber belt below her feet gradually slowed to the pace of geriatric mall-walker. Her strides became longer, slower, and looser.

”Was I wrong?” she asked the window.

I let the question pa.s.s unanswered. ”So, Karen's depressed, she's sleeping all day. Did she miss work?”

Dara Goldklang nodded. ”That's why she got s.h.i.+tcanned. Blew off too many s.h.i.+fts. When she did go in, she looked wrung-out wet, if you know what I'm saying-split ends, no makeup, runs in her stockings.”

”Heavens to Murgatroid,” I said.

”Look, I told her. I did.”

The treadmill wound down to a full stop, and Dara Goldklang stepped off, wiped her face and throat with a towel, drank some water from a plastic bottle. She lowered the bottle, lips still pursed, and locked eyes with me.

Maybe she was trying to get past my clothes and the car she thought I drove. Maybe she was looking to slum, clear her head via the method to which she seemed accustomed.

I said, ”So she lost her job, and the money started to run out.”

She tilted her head back and opened her mouth, poured some water in without her lips ever touching the bottle. She swallowed a few times, then lowered her chin, dabbed her lips with a corner of the towel.

”She was out of money before that. There was something screwy with David's medical insurance.”

”What kind of screwy?”

She shrugged. ”Karen was trying to pay some of his medical bills. They were huge. It wiped her out. And I said, you know, a couple of months not paying rent is all right. I don't like like it, but I understand. But the third month, I said, you know, she had to go if she couldn't come up with it. I mean, we were friends and all-good friends-but this is life.” it, but I understand. But the third month, I said, you know, she had to go if she couldn't come up with it. I mean, we were friends and all-good friends-but this is life.”