Little Jimmy set down the rules. "Five dollars, she speaks to you first." He didn't know her but I did. Anastasia Reese was the darling of New York City's night life. Her drunken exit from a blue Caddy was on red stilettos was testament to this. A strap of her rumpled sunflower dress slipped away to reveal a bare shoulder. The Caddy promptly left her on the sidewalk and she was quick to move away.
Before she reached the subway station stairs I made my move. “Anastasia,” I said over the traffic, “It’s me Eric.”
Gasping, she gazed at me with shame deeper than her emerald eyes. She finally recognized me, leaning close enough for me to smell sweat and perfume. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered coldly. Liquor breath stung my nostrils.
“I’m not Anastasia anymore. I can’t be.”
I could only blink. She was already below.
I don't know much about 1950's New York but I merely described the cover art that was featured. I wasn't nominated to win the crushed fedora but no matter...