Iris scoffed. “Are we talking about the same woman? Tattoos? New York City attitude for days? A general disdain for clothes in any shade lighter than the ninth circle of hell?” Claire wacked Iris’s butt with a towel. “That’s my girlfriend you’re insulting.” “I’m not insulting her,” Iris said. “I’m making simple observations.” “I can hear you, you know!” Delilah called from the living room. She lifted her bourbon in a mock toast. “And I like my black clothes, fuck you very much.”
