He was like blood in the water, a coworker once said. Women swam around him hungry in a way they wouldn’t be if there were more options.
There were some brownstones that had their grand staircases removed when they were transformed into apartment buildings in the 70s, Susannah’s mom had always said they did that because class consciousness was on the rise and the people of the era found the idea of a “servant’s entrance” distasteful. But she doubted that was the real reason. Class consciousness could have never found its way to the wide streets of Brooklyn Heights,
rage doesn’t need surprise. It grabbed at me anyway, filling itself and growing fat within me. Was I mad for all the people who were hurt by him, or was I mad just for myself?