Re: Elevator
"My mom would pick your pockets while her hand was down your pants, baby," she explained, letting him test out all the names he liked. It was no skin off her back, whatever he decided to call her. It's not like this was some kind of love connection. Sam had grown up in one of those families where everyone knew who mom was, but dad didn't always line up with the name on the birth certificate. She wasn't as blonde as Iris and Louis, more honey than pallor, and there was more than one unexpectedly dark-haired brother running around the Alexander clan. It was just the way it was with cons, and nobody really gave a shit when it was all said and done.
"You're a few weeks too late for screwing with our clothes on," she informed him, but that didn't deter her from grabbing two drinks off a raised tray. She handed him one, and she downed one herself, and then she closed her fingers on his lapel again and pulled him onto a strobing, lit square. "This is no Nessum Dorma," she said of Turandot's aria, "but it'll fucking do."