Three days later Chris O'Brien stood waiting and staring mesmerically at the Friday afternoon traffic snarling its way down Geary Street. She'd told the cab driver to pull up to the curb and honk, and hopefully he would have enough patience to do that. Her suitcases were too heavy to carry down the long hallways of the apartment building by herself, and she needed to save her strength for the plane ride back to Detroit.
The smile was gone from her young face, replaced with grim regret and adolescent look of a girl hungry for reassuring affection. After the past two days of hassling with the law, being thrown into the San Francisco County Jail with the whores, drug pushers, and child beaters, she would need some love from the people back in Detroit who loved her, even though she was a tempestuous girl, head strong and too wily for anyone to advise, yet too moral to play the evil games of the city and go unscathed.
But Sandy could do that. It didn't seem to bother her when the police broke into Roger's apartment after the orgy. Oh God, she swallowed hard, blinking back the tears at the remembrance of her wanton actions. She'd been a whore, nothing but a common tramp! Hopefully her parent's would never find out about it.
Chris remembered the eery expression that had broken over Sandy's pixie face when the two girls were hurdled out to the waiting squad cars. It was as if she were relieved; a child finally punished for stealing the cookies. That smile, that vacuous, expressionless smirk had made up Chris' mind… this city living was not for her; she would rather forget her pride, her independent resolutions, and go back to start over – like Monopoly, you have to start at go; you can't pick your spot on the board and think it home. It takes time to build up a comfortable lifestyle, and crime was not her hour glass.
Chris watched the yellow cab snaking and honking its way through the tight traffic, pulling up to the curb and honking. She thrust open the window and waved for the cab driver to come up to help her with her luggage.
In minutes the heavy door clicked shut behind her; the last time she would listen to that familiar click of the latch. It saddened her that Sandy was not there to hug her best friend good-bye, but maybe that was just as well. They hadn't much in common anymore, and although Chris still dearly loved her friend as if she were a sister, they had clearly chosen separate paths. Sandy was probably standing at a bus stop somewhere in the city looking for tricks. Just as well, sighed Chris. It would keep her in clothes, dope, and kicks. That's what mattered to Sandy – that and men. But she'd have plenty of them now – her fill. How many? Ten? Twenty a day?
Sure, she has a job, thought Chris ruefully, lifting her portfolio and setting in in the crackling plastic of the back seat, but what about her future? All that talent… wasted. All she has is a lifetime of remorse. That was nothing to be envious of.