Alex Stern

It's shit, but life goes on. Alex goes through the motions -- she hands Edie over to the nanny, she goes to work, she thinks about drugs, she comes home. The work she does at the club varies; most of the time she's in the office, sometimes she's behind the bar and, sometimes, she's up on the stage or weaving in between the booths and couches. Tonight, one of her dancers hasn't turned up, so she does her makeup over the sink in her bathroom, fluffs her hair, hoists her tits into a sequined bra. She dances, her skin sheened with sweat and glitter and, whenever someone offers her a drink, she takes it.

It's after midnight when she leaves the club, t-shirt and sweats pulled on over the gear she was dancing in, feet shoved into her loosely laced boots. She doesn't want to go home -- not to the apartment at Dimera, and definitely not back to Black Elm, where her little girl lies sleeping. She's pretty limited on where she can go, honestly, her circle shrunk, but then she has an idea, and she pivots on her heel, heading in the opposite direction.

A few minutes later, having slipped in to the building as a delivery driver left, Alex finds herself leaning her forehead against his front door, knocking with her whole fist.

"C'mon, Steve," she says, through gritted teeth. "Be home, buddy."

Having a dog has imposed all kinds of new routines on their lives. Kirby is a big dog, basically still a puppy, and he needs a lot of exercise. Darlington usually takes him for a run first thing in a morning and then Alex takes him for a walk in the park in the early evening, when the light is taking on that violet quality that she loves so much. He's pretty good at being on the leash, and she doesn't have to lean too much wait back to keep him where she wants him. Coming up to the batting cages, she sees a familiar shape, lanky and loose, and she changes their direction to head towards him.

"Hey, Harrington," she calls, raising her free hand in greeting. "Steve!"