Card Sharks by Liz Maverick

tracksuit, and the whole thing made her look like a disgruntled bee. Her massive amounts of blond hair (the result of a hair extension mishap, or what Marianne would term a mishap) were on top of her head. The mess was clamped up and against her head with a barrage of jeweled bobbypins and managed to look terrific.
    It might have been a signal of bad things for Bijoux, but Marianne would have been more than happy to look that good without even trying. She herself wore a huge colorful silk kimono that had once been Bijoux’s over a pair of faded mismatched sweats.
    The two girls looked at each other and just shook their heads in wordless commiseration; then Bijoux stepped over the threshold into Marianne’s apartment. “At least we’re not boring,” she said.
    Marianne followed her in. “That’s right. Not many people could say they were thrown out of SportsClub L.A.”
    Bijoux sighed. “Well, I don’t think many people would choose to say it.”
    Marianne just shrugged. “How’s the cat? Are they pressing charges?”
    â€œThe cat’s fine. And Peter’s downplaying it to his aunt, which I thought was very nice of him.”
    Marianne rummaged about in the grocery sack as Bijoux took her jacket off and dumped her things all over the dining room table. “You never told me how that thing went.” She rummaged some more. “Wow. You seem to have covered all the bases.” She looked up at her friend. “But I’m warning you, there’s something up with my cable, and every channel has a weird gray stripe going across.”
    â€œI don’t care. It’s fine,” Bijoux said.
    â€œYou don’t want to go watch at your house? On the wall-size plasma TV? In an enormous mansion where servants will probably ask us if we want champagne with our Twinkies?”
    â€œNo, I like it here,” Bijoux said blandly, sorting through the stack of magazines on Marianne’s coffee table. She settled into her customary spot on the couch, wrapped the decorative cashmere throw around her and got herself all comfortable, then opened up last month’s Cosmopolitan (actually her own subscription, passed on to Marianne when Bijoux was finished).
    Marianne shook her head. “Okay, then. I’ll just go make some drinks.”
    One would think it would make more sense for Marianne to go over to Bijoux’s mansion, but Bijoux always wanted to come to Marianne’s. She said that if she was going to be tossed out on her ass soon, she needed to start getting used to her new reality. Marianne refrained from pointing out that this kind of reality in this housing market still cost a sizable percentage of one’s monthly salary, and without a major source of income, Bijoux would never be able to afford an apartment like hers.
    â€œYou don’t mind, do you?” Bijoux suddenly called out from the living room as Marianne disappeared into the kitchen and began gathering drink supplies.
    â€œOf course not. I just don’t get it.”
    â€œYou have a nice apartment. It’s homey.”
    Marianne came back around the corner of the kitchen with a small plastic bag of cocktail umbrellas in her hand and leaned against the doorjamb. “Yes, but you have all the luxuries.”
    â€œThey’re already being phased out. Remember that shower with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spray? Gone. A real bummer. Apparently the water used from one of those showers could hydrate an entire classroom of underprivileged drought-stricken schoolchildren for a week. Besides, I can sit on things here without worrying about how much they’d cost if I broke them.”
    Marianne looked around. It was a nice apartment. She’d done a bang-up job. Wood flooring, warm lighting, and area rugs that felt good between the toes. It was cozy and organized and pleasant with paint job and accessories in nice, calming pastel tones of blues and grays and