‘To Katie,’ says Violet, lifting her triangular glass.
‘To KT,’ I say, raising mine, taking my first sip and making a face. ‘People do this out of choice?’
Violet just laughs and leads me to a rattan sofa near the perimeter wall of the rooftop bar. Brazilian R&B plays from the speakers. People laugh and flirt all around us. ‘Just drink it real slow,’ she says. ‘We’re not racing here.’
Two guys approach us and Violet shakes her head. They leave.
‘I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘It’s my first time in a rooftop bar. My first martini. Tonight is my last big night out before I’m normal quiet Molly Raven again in Camden Town. Let the boys in.’
‘One of them had short trousers – like, not ironically short, just clueless short. When the men arrive I’ll let them through, but those two? No, Molly. No way.’
She finishes her drink in half an hour. Takes me forty-five minutes.
‘Club or bar?’ she says, getting up.
‘Expensive club,’ I say. ‘The kind you see in music videos. With table service.’
‘Well out of our budget I’m afraid, Molly. I only have fifty bucks left.’
‘I’m paying,’ I say.
She frowns.
‘A loan came through from my bank in London,’ I lie. ‘We can afford it, tonight. Whatever we want.’
‘That’s what you think,’ she says. ‘But this is New York.’
‘Expensive club,’ I say firmly. ‘I’m in your hands.’
We get an Uber to the Black Flamingo in Williamsburg and she tells me all about the counselling and treatment she received in the Catskills. How she’s learning to trust people again now. Then we hit the Blond, GoldBar and Marquee all before two a.m. I try to drink lots of water to stay conscious. Then we enter the Flying Hippo and that’s the last thing I remember.
I wake up in my hotel room.
My eyes are crusted together.
I feel dreadful. I reach over for a glass of water and find Violet there. We’re both fully dressed. She wakes up and we stare at each other for a while and then she laughs.
‘Great night,’ she says. ‘Those three guys, fuck.’
I have no recollection of three guys.
‘This place, Molly. What is this, the Plaza? What kind of loan did you get?’
She sits up in bed and rubs her eyes.
‘Place is bigger than my mom’s house.’ She swings her legs off the side of the bed and focuses on something by the bedside table. ‘The Ritz-Carlton, Molly? Fuck me.’
I look at the view through the gap in the curtains and then I check the time. Just past ten a.m.
‘I need to get on,’ I say, my heart racing from all the alcohol and caffeine. ‘I have plans today.’
‘You got time for breakfast? How the hell do you afford this place?’
I scold myself for being so reckless. So stupid.
‘It’s just for one night. Last night, I mean. This place. Just for our big adventure. I’m back in the good old Bedfordshire Midtown tonight. I know it’s stupid, a waste of money, but I had to say goodbye to KT’s city this way. With her best friend, fancy hotel, the works.’
‘Good for you. I need the bathroom.’
She stands up and I point to the door for the bathroom.
And then I remember what she told me last night in the Uber back to the hotel. Did she really share that, or am I imagining it? My head pounds, the pulse throbbing behind my eyes. No, she did say it. She actually apologised for it.
I hear a flush.
She told me, earlier this morning, how she and Scott slept together. How they had sex a few times before KT died. And how . . . I must be remembering it wrong. No, she did say it. She told me how they had sex after KT died, just last week. How it was like medicine or something. What’s the phrase she used? Like a Band-Aid.
‘Mind if I take a quick shower?’ she says, emerging from the bathroom. ‘You want to go get breakfast? I need a cigarette and then I could murder some pancakes.’
‘I can’t,’ I say, and I can hear the coldness of my tone as the words leave my mouth. ‘I’m too busy.’
And then I notice the stationery on the desk. Beautiful personalised stationery complete with the heading Ms Violet Roseberry.
‘All right,’ she says, frowning. ‘Just a shower, then?’
I sprint across the room so I’m standing in front of the desk.
Keep calm.
‘I think you should leave now.’
‘Molly, I need a fucking shower,’ she says, frowning. ‘The state of me. I’ll be five minutes, tops.’