Friendship Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by Lisa Verge Higgins Page B

country?”
    “Look at that crowd.” Judy gestured to the milling throng. “We’ll be just fine.”
    Monique frowned. “I’m getting danger vibes.”
    “So you’re going to spend this whole vacation sticking to the main canal, the tourist stores, and the well-worn routes?”
    Monique nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
    Judy felt a rumbling irritation, the frustration of the newly reborn girl inside her. “Listen, we’re thousands of miles away
     from home. Don’t you feel it, Monie? The urge to try something different? To stumble heedless,” she said, waving down the
     crowded street, “into another culture, another whole world?”
    Becky breathed. “Who are you, and what did you do with our Judy?”
    “The old Judy’s back home, painting the walls of the spare bedroom and dealing with a midlife crisis. But the young Judy is
     right here, primed for fun. Believe me, you’d rather take this trip with her.”
    Judy plunged them into one of the busier areas. She breathed in the perfume of Amsterdam, the familiar scent of hash that
     lingered. The neon glowed brighter than she remembered it, the shouts of the crowd more boisterous.
    Becky stumbled on the cobblestones. Judy tried to curl her hand under Becky’s arm, but Becky made a point of swaying out of
     her range.
    “Cobblestones are a bitch,” Judy said. “You’d think they’d be worn smooth after so many centuries.”
    “Maybe I’m just getting stoned.” Becky took an exaggerated sniff. “All you have to do is breathe in this place.”
    “Oh, look, a sex supermarket.” Monique made a tight smile. “I think I’ll just drop in and pick up some incredibly huge dildos.
     That ought to be fun getting through customs. And how about—wait.” She slowed down, cocking her head. “Is that a gas mask?”
    Becky squinted at something on the opposite side of the street. “Judy, what does that sign say?”
    “It’s a theater,” Judy said.
    “A gas mask?” Monique repeated. “What the hell would you do with that?”
    “Is that some kind of tropical sex show?” Becky asked. “That neon sign is in the shape of a banana.”
    “Hey, this gas mask place is right next to a shop called Sadomasochisme.How convenient! I bet they sell a lot of those cat-o’-nine-tails.”
    “Wait,” Becky said, “wait—the banana thing. Is that what I think? Is that when a woman puts a banana—”
    “Bingo.” Judy tugged them both through the crowd. “I’m told the middle of the banana gets shot clear across the stage.”
    “How is that even possible?”
    “As our kids would say, epic skills.”
    A man suddenly stepped directly into their path, startling all of them. His unfocused gaze shifted everywhere at once. “Coca?
     Eh, you want coca?”
    Monique glared at him as she hiked her hands on her hips. “Should I explain to you what a preemie looks like, born to a mother
     addicted to cocaine?”
    Judy tugged Monie away. Judy’s heart pounded a little, in a good-bad way, excitement skittering with fear. A group of young
     people stumbled by like zombies, giggling uncontrollably. Judy grinned at the sight of them because, a few decades ago, she’d
     have been bouncing around right in the middle of them.
    Then Monique came to a jarring stop.
    Judy followed Monique’s gaze. They stared up at one of the famous red-lit windows that gave the area its name. A young woman
     gyrated behind the glass. She was dressed in a silver G-string and a strap of some sort that stretched across her back and
     covered just enough of her breasts to keep some mystery. The girl’s eyes were closed as she swiveled her hips to music only
     she could hear. In the corner of the window lay a little placard.
    Fifty euros.
    Judy felt the same cold jolt she’d felt the first time she’d seen one of these prostitutes, caged in glass. The sight caught
     her by the throat, filling her with revulsion, disbelief, and an inability to look away.
    She’d talked to Thierry. She’d said it was