Suffer the Flesh

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I can help you.

Those had been the words that started it all, words that changed Zoey’s life.

She turned the corner of Fourteenth Street at Union Square, bumped into a vendor hawking honey-roasted nuts, watched a skinny Jimmy Walker lookalike sell fake Rolexes out of a leather briefcase worth more than the items he was trying to unload. Mobs of downtown Manhattan commuters rushed past her into oblivion. She ducked into a bookstore on Seventeenth Street.

“I can help you.”

Clutching a book to her chest, she glanced at the woman standing beside her. Zoey knelt before the endless volumes of dieting self help on the Barnes and Noble shelves. “Excuse me?”

The woman knelt beside Zoey and flipped her long blonde hair over one shoulder. “I can help.”

Zoey blinked. “I think you’ve confused me with someone else. I didn’t ask for help.”

“But you want it, don’t you?”

“What?” Zoey stood, her knees popping. She scratched an itch on her eyebrow and shifted the books from one hand to the other.

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