“Cleveland? You mean here?”

“That’s where Cleveland is, Cheslea. Right here.”

Chelsea L. laughs.

“Oh, so what? It was a million years ago, I doubt he remembers all the groupies that gave it to him.”

Chelsea W. rolls her eyes.

“Of course not all of them, dingbat. Just short ones with hot pink hair that cried all through the deed and then sang back to him the chorus of that one hit…what was it? Right, ‘She Scratches,’ while simultaneously looking for your fishnet stockings in preparation to do your sashay of shame down the Ritz’ hallways. Just those groupies. Those you never forget.”