Most of the old numbers she hasn’t called in years; they’re probably defunct. But there’s one number that she knows is still good, because she and its owner exchange texts every now and again, just to check in on each other. That’s not friendship, not really. They’re colleagues at best. It’s just that back when they were both young, ladies in the business had to look out for each other, and things along those lines haven’t really changed for either of them since. So Brooklyn hits the dial button. And when the call is answered, she smiles. “Hey, Bey,” she says. “Sorry to hit you up out of the
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