Steamed

means the Noah situation first.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “It sucks, and it’s embarrassing. He may be hot and sexy and charming, but he’s an insensitive, egomaniacal ass. And you already know all that, and you knew he wasn’t good for you, but he was there and charmed you into bed, and you made the same mistake we all have. So cry it all out today. Then you can tell me what the hell happened last night.” She stood up and carried a huge box of pastries to the kitchen. “I brought over every season of Alias on DVD, so we’ll gorge ourselves on Thai food and the pastries I brought over from Mike’s in the North End. Let’s finish painting and clean this disaster area up,” she called from inside the fridge. “Oh, and I’m staying over tonight.” I smiled to myself. I wasn’t alone.
    At 6:30 that evening, Adrianna and I had finished up the living room. She’d patiently tolerated my diatribe on the woes of my involvement with Noah, and she’d repeatedly shaken her head in disbelief as I’d described everything about my evening with Eric, including the meal, his pretensions, and, of course, his murder.
    After the painting, we sat on the couch together. “Come on,” Adrianna said, “it’s not like you had any relationship with this guy. I mean, it must have been exceedingly disturbing and revolting to see a bloody body, but you can’t actually be sad, right? This date with Eric was only supposed to be a retaliation for Noah’s philandering. It’s not like you gave a shit about him.”
    Adrianna is always practical, sometimes to the point of seeming coldhearted. Objectively, I suppose, she was right. But I did feel sad. “Ade, the thing is, though, you didn’t see Eric’s dead body on the floor. You didn’t see all the blood. It’s not like on TV. It smells, and it’s just awful looking. Somebody died last night, and it doesn’t matter, in a way, who it was. I feel sad about that, and I feel sorry for myself that I had to see what I did. Is that selfish? And maybe I got what I deserved for my stupid attempt at revenge, but as annoying as Eric was, he didn’t deserve what he got. I mean, being annoying and pretentious didn’t mean he should die. Because if it did, Noah should be dead, too.”
    “Not such a rotten idea,” Adrianna responded. “But you’re right. I’m a bitch. Forget I said any of that. You can feel whatever you want to feel. It must have been terrible. I’ve never seen a dead body, so I don’t know what it was like.” She leaned over to give me a hug.
    “You know, even though I was there, in a way, I don’t even know what it was like, either. God, Ade, his throat was cut open! And... well, what if it was my fault? If I hadn’t gone on that stupid Web site, and we hadn’t made this date, maybe Eric wouldn’t have been at the restaurant and would still be alive and doling out his preposterous culinary observations! And why did everyone think Eric and I were practically on the verge of marriage? How could he have been talking about me when he only found me on the Internet yesterday?”
    Adrianna lit some scented candles—she believes in aromatherapy—-and, amid the smell of wild strawberries, she tried to reassure me. “Chloe, you don’t know why Eric was killed. If it was random violence, that’s not your fault. Look, we live in a big city, and the reality is that people get murdered, and if it’s some psycho out there, then I’m glad you weren’t hurt. But if this Eric was a target, someone wanted him dead for whatever reason, and you just happened to be there.”
    “You’re right. But I still feel terrible. This whole thing is confusing and upsetting, and I wish to God I’d never met Eric!” I fell to pieces for a few minutes while my good friend rubbed my back and fetched me tissues. The image of a lunatic out there randomly killing people in restaurant restrooms didn’t reassure me. In a gruesomely comforting way, I preferred to think that Eric in particular had been the intended victim.
    When I pulled myself together, Adrianna took my head in her hands and asked, “Okay, you done? Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve cried enough to flood this place.” Adrianna got up and went over to grab her purse, which she’d left on a chair. “Now, for one of this evening’s activities... ta dah!” She whipped around to show me a box of hair dye.
    “Why are we dying my hair?” I demanded.
    “We’re not dying yours,” she