It was Staten Island. And to get to work in Manhattan, Claire Amelia Bilsop had to commute almost two hours each way. She took a train from Tottenville, then a short walk to the ferry slip, then the ferry to Manhattan. She did it with her friend Tina and today was no different from most other days.

‘Oh, c’mon,’ Tina said. ‘Come with us. You never go anywhere and you’ve never done anything.’

Claire looked down at her knitting and frowned. When the ferry bumped against the pilings she had dropped a stitch. ‘That’s not true,’ she said, though in fact it pretty much was. She thought of her trips to the library, the video store, the wool department of Kelsey’s, all on Broad Street in Tottenville. ‘I have traveled broadly,’ Claire retorted, ‘and I come into Manhattan every day. Last summer I went to Long Beach Island.’

‘Long Beach, for god’s sake! In Jersey! And you went with your mother and that douchebag boyfriend of hers.’

Claire winced. Tina’s heart was in the right place but her mouth was in the gutter. ‘I prefer to think of him as a windbag,’ Claire said.

‘Douche, wind, whatever.’ Tina stuffed her magazine into her purse, fished out her sunglasses and stood up. Claire stood beside her. ‘Put that wool away, Granny,’ Tina told her and looked at her watch. Claire sighed. The ferry had docked and, as always, they had twenty minutes to walk up Water Street, get coffee and bagels from their regular street vendor, then be upstairs on the thirty-eighth floor of the Crayden Smithers Alliance Building. They had plenty of time but Tina always behaved like a child at a birthday party, afraid she wouldn’t get the last seat in musical chairs. As if anyone else would want their seats at Crayden Smithers. Claire picked up the dropped stitch, wrapped up her knitting, slipped into her coat and joined Tina and the crowd jostling to get off the boat.

As Tina pushed to the head of the line she pulled Claire in her wake. ‘Jersey, for Christ’s sake!’

‘I went to the Poconos,’ Claire murmured. People were looking at them angrily. Even in Manhattan, a city fabled for pushers, Tina stood out.

‘The Poconos!’ Tina almost spat as they stepped off the ferry. ‘That’s one step lower than Jersey.’ She shook her head and her big hair trembled. ‘And you went with that yutz. You didn’t even have sex with him.’

Claire colored. She looked around but the crowd paid no attention, busy dispersing to buses, subways, and a new day of boredom or aggravation. Claire’s sex life – or lack of it – meant nothing to them. ‘I slept with him,’ she protested. She wouldn’t admit to Tina that it had been mostly sleeping. Bob had not been an Italian stallion, as Tina always claimed her fiancé, Anthony, to be.

‘That’s even more pathetic,’ Tina said. ‘Sleeping with Bob. Fah!’ They stepped out of the terminal and the wind off the bay battered them. ‘Jesus, it’s cold,’ Tina complained. ‘It’s March, for god’s sake. When’s it gonna warm up?’ Claire knew Tina didn’t expect an answer so she didn’t venture one, letting Tina continue her ongoing monologue and possibly well-meaning harassment. ‘It’s warm in San Juan, Claire. Beaches. Casinos. Bars.’

The trouble was that Claire didn’t really like any of those things. She burned in the sun, she’d never gambled – not even on a Lotto ticket – and she hated bars. Though Tina had been her friend since they’d grown up on the same street in Tottenville, there wasn’t much that Tina enjoyed doing that didn’t make Claire bored or uncomfortable or both. People who lived in Manhattan referred to people like Tina as one of the ‘bridge and tunnel crowd’. Though they didn’t take a bridge or a tunnel to get to Manhattan from Staten Island, Claire felt this technicality wouldn’t affect Tina’s status. She was parochial, and not just because of her Catholic school upbringing. Claire hid a smile.

She often thought what a strange, ill-matched pair they made. Tina was tiny and dark, with big breasts she liked to be noticed and she wore bright, tight fitting tops. Her skin was olive and her make-up was dramatic. Claire was tall and, though fifteen pounds overweight, her chest was almost embarrassingly small – god must be a man because a woman god would not let all the weight she put on go to her hips. She had pale, fine skin and eyes that were somewhere between gray and green (but if she was honest – and she always was – closer to gray). Her light brown hair hung straight, cut below the chin in a simple bob. Aside from some pink lip gloss and an occasional (inept) wave of a brown mascara wand, she wore no make-up at all. Now the cold made her lick her lips and wish she’d brought the lip gloss with her.

The buildings on either side of them made a wind tunnel and Claire felt like Dorothy about to be battered by the tornado. Except, of course, there was no Oz. ‘If it’s about the money, hey, I got a few extra bucks,’ Tina offered. Claire blushed. She regretted telling Tina recently that her mother had begun charging rent. ‘Just for you to stay in the room you’ve slept in since you were four years old?’ Tina had demanded, outraged. Claire had nodded. Since Jerry had moved in, her mother seemed more short of cash than ever, though his contribution and the insurance money from her father’s death should have been more than enough for her mother to live on.

‘Ya know, it’s a sin the way your mom treats you. My uncle says if your dad left the house to you, you shouldn’t be payin’ no rent.’ Claire neither pointed out the double negative nor the fact that it was none of Tina’s uncle’s business. Of course, it sometimes seemed that Tina’s uncle – some of her other male relatives too – didn’t have a business. And their wives spent lots of cash and discussed everyone’s. But Claire never criticized – she knew what could happen to people who criticized Tony Brunetti. But if Tina was bossy, judgmental and a gossip, she did have a generous heart. ‘So, you want a loan?’ she asked.

‘No.

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