Читать книгу Lauren Weisberger 3-Book Collection: Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont - Лорен Вайсбергер, Lauren Weisberger, Lauren Weisberger - Страница 23

‘Will you just relax, love? I told you, I’m handling it.’ Philip parked the Vespa on the sidewalk carpet outside a beautiful West Village apartment building and slipped the doorman some cash, which was met with a discreet nod. I was struck by the sudden realization that this was the first time Philip and I had been alone together since the morning I woke up in his apartment.

‘Relax? You’re asking me to relax?’ I shrieked. ‘Excuse me, sir, could you please hail me a cab?’ I asked in the direction of the doorman, who immediately looked to Philip for permission.

‘Bette, just chill the fuck out. You don’t need a cab. The party’s here. Now come inside, and let’s get you a little drinky, okay?’

Drinky? Did I just hear that? This guy has shagged every attractive female in Manhattan between the ages of sixteen and forty-five and he says ‘drinky’? I couldn’t dwell on this disturbing development, though, as I had less than ten minutes to get to Soho House.

He continued. ‘Elisa called and I told her I couldn’t possibly go; I’m expected at Caleb’s party. She asked if she could bring the BlackBerry people here, said that they’d think it was cool to see a “real downtown party” or some bullshit like that. So they’ll be here any minute. This is where we’re supposed to be, okay?’

I looked at him dubiously, wondering how this had all unfolded. Was Elisa diverting me deliberately? I considered that for a moment but then realized there was no way she could sabotage this party without Kelly knowing, and besides, why would she want to? Granted, she might have wanted Philip at one point, and maybe she’d seemed less friendly lately, but I figured it was just because we were all really busy at work, planning individual events in addition to laying all the groundwork for the Playboy party. All I wanted to do was call Penelope, explain that I hadn’t lied to get out of her dinner so I could run off into the night with this sad excuse for a boyfriend. Philip had already strolled past the doorman and was waiting impatiently for me to join him, and as soon as we stepped into the elevator, true to form, he attacked me.

‘Bette, I simply cannot wait to take you home later and shag you all night,’ he crooned into my hair, his hands running all over my body and sliding under my shirt. ‘Even in that silly getup you’re hot.’

I pushed his grabby hands away and sighed. ‘Let’s just get through this, okay?’

‘Why do you get your knickers in such a twist, love? Oh, I see now, you’d like it if I tried a touch harder. I am most willing to accommodate. …’ And with that, he thrusted his entire lower half into mine with minimal skill and his characteristic tongue lashing. Had Gwyneth really endured such treatment? Was it actually possible he’d slept with so many girls only once that none had bothered to tell him that he had no idea what he was doing? It was sickening, as was the sudden realization that Philip only pursued me with this passion when he knew we couldn’t go through with it. Tonight was no different; there was no risk of me tearing off my clothes and pleading for sex when the elevator doors would swing open at any moment. Which they did, directly into Caleb’s penthouse apartment. A quick and subtle backhanded wipe across my face and neck removed most of the saliva, and I was as ready as I’d ever be.

‘Philip, baby, come on over!’ a lanky guy with long hair called from the couch, where he was hunched over a mirror, rolled-up bill in hand. What appeared to be a naked girl was draped across his lap. She stared up at him with a look that surpassed admiration and approached worship. He snorted quickly, effortlessly, handed the girl the bill, and then pulled his mask back over his face.

‘Cally, Cal-man, this is Bette. Bette, Caleb, the thrower of this most fabulous party, and as of today, a gentleman no longer in his twenties.’

‘Hi, Caleb, nice to meet you,’ I said to the mask. ‘Thanks for inviting me.’

All three of them looked at each other and then at me and started laughing. ‘Bette, why don’t you come join us here for a little taste, and then we’ll head upstairs? Everyone’s on the roof.’

‘Uh, I’m good, thanks,’ I said, unable to take my eyes off the girl. She finished the two small lines Caleb had left for her and rolled onto her back. Technically, she wasn’t completely naked, if you counted the swatch of fuchsia silk that hung low on her hips and covered only the front of her pelvis, leaving her entire backside bare. The thong I thought she’d been wearing when I first saw her turned out to be nothing more than a tan line, and her breasts had long since broken free from their own silk constraints, a contraption shaped something like a bra but with no actual hooks, straps, or shape. She curled up in a ball with a happy smile and sipped her champagne, announcing that she was just going to party downstairs a little longer before joining everyone else.

‘Suit yourself, babe,’ Caleb said, motioning for us to follow him. We stepped back in the elevator, where he used a special key that allowed us to select the Terrace button. I almost passed out when the doors opened again. I don’t know what exactly I’d been expecting, but this sure wasn’t it. Perhaps I’d thought it was going to be like Michael’s Halloween party, when a bunch of his friends from UBS and college had gathered in his fourth-floor walk-up. The kitchen table had held bottles of cheap booze and mixers and a few cereal bowls of candy corn, pretzels, and salsa. Some guy in drag announced that pizza was on the way to the assorted costumed revelers, who sat around talking about college, who had gotten engaged or promoted, and how badly President Bush was fucking up in Iraq.

This scene was very, very different. The rooftop itself looked like an exact replica of Skybar in LA, all sleek and chic and streamlined, with low-rider lounging beds and heat lamps and geometrical candelabras casting a soft glow over everything. A frosted-glass bar peeked out from behind some sort of intimidating vegetation, and a DJ booth had been installed in another corner, mostly out of sight so as not to block one inch of the incredible city views that spanned below us. Nobody seemed much interested in the Hudson right then, though, and I immediately understood why: the flesh on display was far more compelling than some river, and far more expansive.

There are parties and there are costume parties, and then there’s what was unfolding on Caleb’s rooftop, something that by definition would technically qualify as a costume party but what in reality looked more like a revival of Hair – plus La Perla lingerie, minus tacky sixties updos. I felt an immediate desire to strip off my shoes and suit and roam around in nothing but my bra and underwear, if for no other reason than an intense desire to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Even then I’d surely be wearing more clothing than any other woman here, but at least I wouldn’t stand out quite so much.

Caleb had disappeared briefly and returned with a glass of champagne for me and a tumbler of something amber-colored for Philip. I downed it in one long gulp and gaped openly at the girl he’d brought over to meet us. The introduction was preceded by a long and very visual kiss during which both Caleb and the girl opened their mouths so wide and with such tongue enthusiasm that I almost felt like an equal participant.

‘Mmm,’ he murmured, playfully biting her neck after reclaiming his tongue from the depths of her face. ‘Guys, this is … the most gorgeous girl at the party. How hot is she? Seriously, have you seen anything so stunning in your lives?’

‘Gorgeous,’ I concurred, as though she weren’t there. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ The girl apparently wasn’t bothered that Caleb appeared to have forgotten – or never discovered – her name. Not so weird, I figured; it seemed like lots of people hung out together but didn’t really know one another’s names. The music was always too loud and everyone was usually wasted, but mostly it was because no one cared. ‘I’ll remember her name when I read it on Page Six,’ I’d heard Elisa announce on the subject. This girl didn’t seem to mind much, perhaps because she didn’t appear to comprehend a single word we were exchanging. She just giggled and occasionally adjusted her outfit and concentrated very hard on touching Caleb as often and as suggestively as possible. Yet another guy in drag (this one sporting a full-body mask with bare breasts, shimmery eyeliner, and a black-and-white-checked headdress à la Yasir Arafat) came over to announce that the cars would arrive in just a few minutes to take us to Bungalow 8 for Caleb’s ‘real’ party.

‘It will hopefully be an improvement over my rubbish birthday party last year,’ Philip replied.

‘Why rubbish?’ I asked, not caring but trying to appear involved so my staring wouldn’t be quite so obvious.

‘The fuckwits at the door let everyone in, and within an hour it was overrun with B&T. Bad times.’

‘Was,’ agreed the she-male Arafat. ‘Bad times all around. Tonight will be better. That big one, what’s his name, Sammy’s at the door. He’s no genius, but he’s not a complete fucking idiot, either.’

Sammy! I wanted to sing out his name, hug the guy who’d just uttered it, dance in little circles at the thought of seeing him. But first I had to get through this.

‘So, what are you?’ the turbaned guy asked me.

‘She’s going as an uptight bi … businesswoman,’ Philip kindly answered on my behalf. And as I looked around, I wondered what it was about costume parties that always made guys dress like girls and girls dress like sluts. Regardless of the coolness of the party or the price of the alcohol served, it happened each and every time, without fail. I looked around for the scantily clad kittens, nurses, princesses, singers, French maids, cheerleaders, Catholic schoolgirls, devils, angels, or dancers, but these girls didn’t bother with such repressive titles. None of their outfits were technically costumes, just an amalgamation of shiny fabrics and sparkly accessories designed to showcase some of the best bodies God had ever created.

A brunette reclining on one of the beds was wearing a pair of flowing magenta gypsy pants that billowed out from a low-slung belt and were gathered together at her ankles, the transparent material allowing us to view her diamond-studded thong, which was tucked between perfectly firm butt cheeks. On top she wore a diamond-studded bra that created cleavage in that flawless way that said, ‘Look at me’ but not ‘I’m an aspiring Pamela Anderson.’ Her friend, looking all of sixteen and lying next to her, playing with her hair, wore a pair of silver fishnets that stretched so far across her infinite legs that they looked partially shredded. She had pulled on a pair of red leather boy shorts over them, which dipped so low at the hips and so high at the thigh that she’d definitely needed to make a special request at the waxer’s. The only accompaniment to the ‘costume’ were the silver fringe tassels hanging from the nipples of her apple-sized breasts and a giant tiara of multicolored feathers and fur that cascaded down her back. I’ve never had a single sexual impulse toward another woman in all my twenty-seven years, and yet I thought I would sleep with either one of them right then.

‘They look like lingerie models, for chrissake,’ I muttered under my breath to no one in particular.

‘They are,’ Philip responded, staring with what can only be described as lust. ‘Don’t you recognize Raquel and Maria Thereza here? They’re Victoria’s biggest girls this year, the youngest Brazilian crop ever.’

I was devastated to see that they don’t airbrush nearly as much as I’d always convinced myself they did. We roamed around the glass-enclosed roof – only the ceiling was open to the sky – as Philip handed out high fives to Jimmy Fallon and Derek Jeter in quick succession and cheek kisses (always just missing the lips) to a long line of fashion-magazine editors, sitcom actresses, and Hollywood starlets. I was checking my cell to see if Elisa or Kelly had called when I spotted Philip massaging the back of the titty-tasseled girl, who I now recognized as the one who’d modeled the cotton bikini panties I’d recently ordered from the VS catalog and who I’d mentally blamed for misrepresentation when I’d put them on and looked in the mirror. The Hotel Costes soundtrack thumped out of some flattened, plasma-like unit that hung from one of the outdoor walls while people alternately danced, smoked, did drugs, munched sushi, and ogled each other. I kept checking the door for Elisa, worried they wouldn’t find us on the terrace, and eventually sent her a text message with elevator instructions. At some point I accepted a drink from a gorgeous, shirtless waiter wearing a loincloth and heels, but I remained rooted near the door, making sure I could see everyone who arrived and left. There was a brief break in the fun when Caleb announced that a fleet of cars was waiting downstairs to transport everyone to the club, but then the partying continued straight through the elevators and into the two dozen Town Cars that lined the block as far as I could see.

‘Philip, we can’t leave this party!’ I hiss-whispered as he tried to hustle me into the elevator. ‘We’re waiting for the BlackBerry people.’

‘Stop fretting, love. Elisa rang to tell me that your boss rang to tell her that the meeting is canceled for tonight.’

I couldn’t have heard that correctly. It was impossible!

‘What? You can’t be serious.’ I couldn’t even consider the possibility that I’d been forcefully removed from Penelope’s dinner to tend to clients who didn’t need tending.

He shrugged. ‘That’s what she said. Come on, love, you can call from the car.’

I wedged myself between Caleb and Philip and tried not to touch any of the exposed body parts of the girl who was lying across all our laps.

I dialed Elisa and nearly screamed with frustration when it went to voice mail. Kelly answered on the third ring, sounding vaguely surprised to hear from me.

‘Bette? I can barely hear you. Anyway, the meeting’s off for the night. We had a lovely dinner at Soho House and then had drinks by the pool, but I don’t think they’re quite used to New York partying. They went back to the hotel already, so you’re off the hook. But they’re very excited about this week!’ She was screaming above music somewhere and didn’t realize that even though she couldn’t hear herself, I could hear her perfectly.

‘Oh, well, okay. Um, that’s fine. As long as you’re sure—’

‘Are you with Philip?’ she shouted.

At the sound of his name coming through the phone, he squeezed my knee and started moving his hand upward.

‘I am. He’s right here. Do you want to talk to him?’

‘No, no, I want you to talk to him. I hope you guys are at Bungalow. It’s going to be a huge night – everyone will be there for Caleb’s birthday.’

‘Huh?’

‘Lots of photogs, lots of opportunity …’

Despite the weirdness of Kelly’s obvious pimping tactics, I liked my job – and Kelly – at that point. I knew I didn’t ever want to go back to mutual funds. I wanted this BlackBerry party to be the best event of the year and I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to take a few pictures with Philip before sneaking out and meeting Penelope and Michael at the Black Door. Besides, we were already heading there anyway, right? Despite my outrage at being yanked from Penelope’s dinner, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t that bad. …

‘Sure thing, I hear you,’ I said with faux cheeriness while removing Philip’s hand from where it currently resided – my inner thigh – and tapping it the way a grandmother might. ‘Thanks, Kell. See you Monday.’

The cars pulled up single file along Twenty-seventh Street and I saw that the line was almost a hundred people, all of whom stared, slack-jawed, as we exited the fleet of cars in our outrageous costumes. Sammy was standing off to one side while a man from the party wearing a long blond wig and very high heels yelled at him. I tried to get his attention as we cut in front of the entire line, but another bouncer approached us first.

‘How many are you?’ he asked Philip pleasantly, giving no indication that he knew who anyone was.

‘Oh, I don’t know, man, forty? Sixty? Who bloody knows?’

‘Sorry, dude – not tonight,’ the doorman replied, turning his back. ‘Private party.’

‘My man, I don’t think you understand. …’ Philip clapped him on the back and the bouncer looked like he might deck him, but then he noticed the credit card Philip was brandishing – the one and only Black Card. The negotiations began.

‘I only have three tables right now. I’ll let in six per table and an additional ten people, but that’s the best I can do,’ he said. ‘Any other night, no problem, but tonight it’s really out of my hands.’

This guy was clearly new and had no idea who he was dealing with, and Philip looked like he was ready to let him know. His voice tight and controlled, he got within three inches of the bouncer’s face and said, ‘Look, man, I don’t give a toss what your problem is. Caleb is one of my closest mates and it’s his party. Three tables is bullshit. I want six tables, starting with two bottles apiece, and everyone admitted. Now.’

I noticed Sammy finishing his conversation and tried to slink away from the front as quietly as possible so I could lose myself in the crowd; I was desperate not to let him see me with Philip. All around me, guys were working their cell phones, calling anyone and everyone they knew who might get the bouncer to release the velvet rope; girls approached the doormen with puppy eyes, stroking their arms and quietly making their pleas for admittance. Sammy walked toward Philip and caught my eye as I moved closer again to hear what was happening. I fervently hoped he would tell them all to fuck off, to take their money and party elsewhere, but he just looked quickly at me again and addressed the other bouncer.

‘Anthony, let them in.’

Anthony, who’d already been surprisingly accommodating and nonconfrontational, appeared dismayed at this development and began to argue. ‘Dude, they have like eighty fucking people. I don’t care how much cash they got, it’s my ass on the line if—’

‘I said let them in. Clear out whatever tables you need to and give them whatever they want. Do it now.’ And with that, Sammy glanced at me one last time and stepped inside the door, leaving Anthony to handle us.

‘See there, mate?’ Philip gloated, unable to help himself, assuming it was his fame that had secured our entrance. ‘Do what the good man said. Take this card here and get us our goddamn tables. You can handle that, can’t you?’

Anthony took the Black Card, his hands shaking with rage, and held the door open for the forty or so of us who had already arrived. The line quieted as we filed inside, and everyone tried to see the famous among us.

‘There’s Johnny Depp!’ I heard one girl stage-whisper.

‘Ohmigod! Is that Philip Weston?’ asked another.

‘He dated Gwyneth, didn’t he?’ one of the guys said.

Philip swelled with noticeable pride and directed me to the table that the mâitre d’ had just emptied for us. The evicted party stood a few feet away, holding their drinks, their faces flush with shame as we took our seats around the banquette.

Philip pulled me onto his lap and rubbed my leg, kneading it in that way that tickles uncomfortably and hurts at the same time. He mixed me a vodka tonic using the $400 bottle of Grey Goose that was immediately deposited at our table, and greeted every single person who walked past by name, occasionally burying his face in my neck.

During one of these burrowings, he rested his chin on my shoulder and gazed at the model sitting next to me, legs crossed seductively, face in her hands, elbows on her knees, nipple tassels slipping slightly off-center.

‘Just look at her,’ he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes fixed on the youngest-looking girl of all. ‘Look how she imitates the older models, watching how they move their hips, their eyes, their mouths, and doing exactly that because she knows it’s sexy. She’s just growing into that body of hers, doesn’t quite realize what she possesses, and she’s learning like a newly hatched chick. Isn’t it smashing to watch?’

Mmm, absolutely smashing. Downright gripping, actually, I thought, but I just shook him off and announced I’d be right back. He nearly fell on her as I untangled myself from him, and I heard him complimenting her directly as I walked toward the front of the club.

Elisa was draped across an attractive man at a banquette near the door, her head and shoulders leaning against his chest while her bare feet – still red with sandal-strap lines – rested in Davide’s lap. She didn’t appear to be too concerned – or even aware of – the BlackBerry situation. I wasn’t sure she was conscious or even alive until I got close enough to see her concave stomach rise and fall with the slightest motion.

‘Bette, honey, there you are!’ She mustered enough energy to make herself heard over the music even though she probably hadn’t consumed enough calories that day to remain in a standing position. I decided to address the BlackBerry debacle another time.

‘Hey,’ I mumbled, displaying my lack of enthusiasm.

‘Come here. I want you to meet the most talented skin-care therapist in Manhattan. Marco, this is Bette. Bette, Marco.’

‘Aesthetician,’ he immediately corrected.

I’d been on my way to thank Sammy, but there was no avoiding putting in at least a few minutes at their table. I sat down and immediately poured myself a vodka tonic. ‘Hi, Marco, nice to meet you. How do you know Elisa?’

‘How do I know Elisa? Why, I like to think I can claim responsibility for that flawless, glowing skin!’ He held her head between his manicured fingers and thrust it toward me as though it were an inanimate object. ‘Here, look. Do you see this evenness? Do you see the complete and utter lack of blemishes or discoloration? This is achievement!’ He spoke with a slight Spanish accent and much flourish.

‘Mmm, she does look great. Maybe you could help me out sometime,’ I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else.

‘Mmm,’ he said back, examining my face. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

I took that as my cue to excuse myself, but Elisa hoisted herself into a sitting position and said, ‘Darlings, amuse yourselves for a few minutes while Davide and I say hello to a few friends.’

I looked up to see Davide lean forward so the table would obscure his hands. He deftly opened Elisa’s white and gold Dior bag on the floor, removed a key from its ring, poured white powder from a tiny packet into the key’s longest groove, and held it quickly up to his nose. His hand covered the entire key, and if you weren’t watching very closely, it wouldn’t look like anything more than a casual nose itch, perhaps a little allergy sniffle. He refilled it within a second or two and passed it invisibly to Elisa, who also worked so quickly that I wasn’t even sure what had passed under her nose or when. Another few seconds and the key ring was back in her purse and the two were jumping out of their seats, ready to work the room.

‘They could at least have offered us some, don’t you think?’ Marco asked.

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ I said, not quite sure whether to announce that I’d never tried it, and while I was immensely curious, I was more scared.

Marco sighed meaningfully and took a long pull from his drink.

‘Rough day?’ I asked, again unsure of both how to proceed or escape.

‘You can say that again. Elisa fucked up my schedule again. She knows how much I hate it when she passes out in my chair.’ Another sigh.

‘She passed out? Is she okay?’

His huge eye roll was followed by a long, exhausted exhalation. ‘Look at her – does she look okay to you? Hey, I’m all about starving yourself – I’ve certainly had to do it myself a few times – but you’ve got to take responsibility for your actions! You know when you’re about to pass out! There are little flashes of light before your eyes and you get really dizzy. Your body does this to let you know that it’s time to take a bite of that PowerBar you should be toting around for occasions like this. You gotta heed the warnings, you know, and get the hell out of my chair, or else you’re going to screw up my entire schedule.’

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, so I just sat and listened.

‘These girls think they can come in after a long week of nose drugs and no food and just conk out in my chair and I’ll take care of them. Well, that used to be okay, but I’ve got better things to do now. The way I see it, it’s the same as some heroin junkie: I couldn’t care less if you’re using, man, just don’t overdose in my home because then it becomes my problem. You know?’

I nodded. The world is lucky to have a guy as sensitive as Marco, I thought.

‘People have it worse than I do, though,’ he continued earnestly. ‘Friend of mine’s a makeup artist. He brings one case of makeup with him, and another of PowerBars and fruit-juice boxes because the girls are always conking out on him. At least when mine faint in the chair, I don’t have to start all over. He also usually sees them right before big events, at their hungriest, since they’ve been on super-starvation to fit into their dresses. It’s tough, man. They leave us to pick up the pieces.’

‘Yeah, I hear that. Listen, it was really nice to meet you, but I’ve got to run and say hi to a friend. Will you be here for a few minutes?’ I asked, realizing that if I didn’t escape soon, it might never happen.

‘Sure, whatever, great to meet you. Catch you later.’ He nodded in my direction before leaning over to mix another drink.

I wanted to find Sammy and thank him for what he’d done, maybe explain that I was not there as Philip’s date or his girlfriend or even by choice, but by the time I fought past the door crowd – which seemed to have expanded exponentially in the last hour – Sammy was nowhere in sight.

‘Hey, have you seen Sammy?’ I asked Anthony, trying to sound casual.

He appeared to have calmed down since our last interaction and shook his head while glancing over his clipboard.

‘Nah, he headed out early to meet his girl. Left me here alone for one of the biggest parties of the year. Wouldn’t usually do that, so it musta been important. Why, you gotta problem? I’ll try and help you in a few when I get rid of some of these people.’

‘No, no problem. Just wanted to say hi.’

‘Yeah, well, he’ll be back tomorrow.’

I bummed a cigarette from a guy in an emerald green prom dress and willed myself to go back inside. I didn’t have to, though. The party had come to me.

‘Bette! I was hoping I’d see you here!’ Abby screeched as her behemoth breasts threatened to overtake her entire face. ‘You should be inside keeping an eye on that boy of yours, don’t you think?’

‘Hey, Abby. I’d love to chat, but I was just leaving.’

‘It’s Abigail now, actually. Come inside and have one cigarette with me, okay? For old times’ sake.’

I wanted to tell her that there had been no old times, but I was already feeling defeated by the mental image of Sammy curled up with Isabelle, the Botox beauty.

‘Sure,’ I said listlessly. ‘Whatever.’

‘So, tell me. How is everything with Philip? It’s just so amazing that you two ended up together!’ she said, leaning in conspiratorially.

‘Amazing? Not really.’ I tried to think of something, anything, to end the conversation.

‘Bette! Of course it is! Now, I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a personal question, but I’ve always been dying to know: How is he in bed? Because, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are rumors that—’

‘Abby, I don’t want to be rude, okay? But I really need to leave. I cannot have this conversation now.’

She appeared completely unfazed. ‘Sure, no problem. I know how tired you must be from the new job. Anyway, we’ll be sure to catch up soon, right? Oh! And I just love what you did with that suit – only you could make something so average look so good!’

I backed away as though she were a rabid dog and began to stumble back to Elisa’s table to collect myself. Instead, I headed to the bar and drank down a martini – mixed just the way Will liked them. It wasn’t half-bad, actually, sitting and getting drunk solo, but when an entire horde of gorgeous and mostly naked girls commandeered my personal space, the temptation to leave was just too great to resist. No matter Kelly’s photo ops – I just couldn’t endure more of Philip’s fascinating musings on the growth cycle of South American models or Marco’s suggestions for the most efficient starvation techniques, so I texted both Philip and Elisa one line claiming sudden illness and collapsed into the backseat of a cab. I looked at my watch – one-thirty in the morning. Would they still be at the Black Door? I got my answer when Michael slurred hello on the fifth ring.

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘Just got home,’ he replied. ‘You missed a good night. But the Black Door with Pen and Avery is a lot different from the Black Door with Pen and Bette!’

I began calling Penelope as soon as the meter began running and continued calling until I finally fell asleep, a little after three in the morning. It went to voice mail every time.