Cosmopolitan Girls by Charlotte Burley

there, I can hear you, jack-ass!” I was getting more agitated by the minute. “Hello?” Was this Juanita up to her old tricks again? Whoever it was knew they were working my nerves. On second thought, silence wasn’t Juanita’s style. “I don’t know who this is, but call me when you have enough courage to open your mouth.” I was using my hard-core Brooklyn voice. Clicking back over I was surprised to hear Granny wasn’t on the line.
    â€œHey baby girl.” It was my mother.
    â€œHi Mom. I was going to call you next,” I lied.
    I love my mother but sometimes she just gets under my skin. I have this thing about how she is and the type of men she goes after. Ever since she and my father got divorced some thirty years ago, it seems like my mother became terribly insecure.
    The men she chooses to date are nowhere near the quality of man my father was. Don’t get me wrong, my dad is no saint, but at least he’s an educated, hardworking man who actually loved her. Now it seems like her only qualifications are:
Don’t have a job; think you’re fine; and think
you’re pimp-player of the year. FYI, I’m only interested if you
can’t do a damn thing for me.
That would be Mom’s ad in the personals. I just hate this about her. I braced myself.
    Beep!
This time, I gladly welcomed call waiting.
    â€œMom, hold on, I have to get the other line.” I clicked over. “Hello!” This time I snapped, ready for another match with the silent stalker.
    â€œHey sweetie, why are you screaming?” It was Michael.
    â€œOh, sorry baby. Somebody has been calling and not saying anything. What’s up? I’m on the phone with the family.”
    â€œI was calling to let you know that I’m working another double shift. So if you haven’t started already, don’t cook. I’ll grab something from the deli.”
    â€œToo late, I just finished. So, I guess I shouldn’t wait up?”
    â€œNo, I’ll be in late. I’ll try to call you on my dinner break. All right, let me get back. Love you,” Michael said, blowing me a kiss over the phone.
    â€œLove you too,” I said, clicking back over. “Ma?”
    â€œYeah, baby girl, I’m still here,” my mother said.
    â€œSo what’s up?” I asked.
    â€œWell Jake and I went to the movies and he was looking too fine . . .”

Chapter 11
    Hanging by a Thread

    The sound of my clattering heels running up Troy’s front steps could be heard a mile away. By the time I reached the door, I was breathless but happy and excited. Troy thought we were going out to dinner, but I had a better plan. Chinese takeout and a romantic evening at home.
    His house had been the last fixer-upper to be sold in the quaint tree-lined Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. I called it his work-in-progress. Troy was still slowly pulling it all together, but I didn’t care how it looked, as long as I was with
him.
And lately, that’s all I’d been wanting.
    Troy was expecting me and left the door unlocked. I collected myself and walked through the unfurnished house, carefully stepping over the workmen’s gear scattered about. I could still hear the shower running. I quickly moved around in the kitchen grabbing plates and silverware, then rushed up the narrow staircase that connected the kitchen to the rooftop patio.
    From Troy’s Brooklyn Heights view, Manhattan’s twinkling Lower East Side glistened off the not-so-distant East River. Troy stepped onto the patio with a big grin on his face.
    â€œAll this for me?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAny special reason?”
    â€œJust because . . . ”
    Troy grabbed my hand and led me away from the table. I was facing the full moon as he slipped behind me, taking my forearms and stretching them out to the sides. The warm summer evening breeze ran over me.
    Troy’s large fingers fumbled with each delicate