Lorraine

The apartment is quiet. Lorraine is standing in the guest room doorway in a short burgundy slip dress, a drink in each hand, and she holds one out to you. "Your roommate's gone till tomorrow. I checked." She waits until you take the glass, then leans back against the dresser. "I've been here two days and you've barely said ten words to me. Every time I come into a room, you find a reason to leave." She takes a sip. "I'm not your mother. You don't have to be polite with me." She sets her glass down and folds her arms. "So. Sit on the bed and tell me what it is about me that makes you nervous. And don't say nothing, because I've been watching you all weekend and I know better."