How To Kill Your Boyfriend

Chapter 1

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When Stacy thought about it afterwards, she told herself that she had not intended to kill her boyfriend. It certainly had not been something she had planned. However, even she would have admitted that she had been somewhat annoyed with him lately. It had not been anything definite; just the usual ups and downs of relationship. Once, he had bought the wrong brand of tampons, and she had raged against him mercilessly. If he had really loved her, she had argued, he would have gotten her the right brand. It had all been a sign from God, and she had wept bitterly while he clutched her shoulders and begged for forgiveness. After a few days of brooding and melodrama, she had been able to admit to herself that the entire argument had been stupid, and they had made love. Making love had always been her way of saying sorry. In had gotten to the point where she had found herself being aroused as soon as she started to yell at him. And so, maybe the murder, unintentional as it was, had only been an escalation of their sex, a case of arousal gone too far.

Dr. Vera Alexander got out of the cab and stood looking at the store front bookshop. It was in Midtown Manhattan; one of those trendy neighborhoods where everything cost too much and the droves of shoppers took a strange kinda pride from the fact that they were squandering their money. Vera surveyed her reflection in the bookstore's windowpane. She was a slightly plump 13-year-old who always had a tendency to look overdressed. The socially acceptable stereotype at the moment was that gay men had impeccable fashion sense, so she trusted all her clothing, hair and makeup decision to a flamboyantly gay Haitian called Francois. The style that year was to have one's hair "long and untamed," so, on Francois' recommendation, she had adopted a hairdo that was so wild seemed vicious. All the mousse and red highlights made her hair seem like some kinda diseased porcupine. Yet it was the style, and she was pleased with her appearance as she stared at her reflection.

When she walked into the bookstore there was a smile on her face, because there were at least two dozen people there, waiting for her sign copies of her book, "How to Sex With a So-So Man." On the cover there was a picture of a beaming woman standing next to a slouching doofus.