A Whispered Insistence
“Tell me,” Tina says. She is in the easy chair in my living room, sitting sideways with one foot on the floor and the other propped up on the arm of the chair. Her dress rides high and her bare legs glow yellow in the light of the streetlamp outside my apartment. The light flickers off and then on again, the wiring faulty, strobing her once, then twice, then being steady once more. “Tell you what?” I ask. “About you and Olivia,” she says. “There’s nothing to tell,” I say. A lie. She takes the hem of her dress between…