“I’m just being friendly.” Posey flashes an animal smile. No wonder she dated Graham.
Demi shoots me a grateful look. She doesn’t drink. She doesn’t talk. She just wants this to be over. I could shoot her now; it would be so easy. She’s just standing there, curled in on herself like a scared little mouse. Then I remember I would definitely go to jail if I shot someone point-blank on a hotel rooftop. Sometimes it’s hard to remember where the game ends and the outside world begins.
“I want to hear more about the party,” Mitsi says. She is dressed in some overdesigned black-and-white dress that probably costs twice as much as one that would actually flatter her. “Does Graham know what you’re planning?”
“No, it’s a surprise—and nobody here tell him.” As if Graham would ever entertain any of them for more than a minute. Everyone gathers around me as I explain the setup: the guns and the gold-dust Simunition, how Margo has agreed to let us have the run of the house. I am mid-explanation when I glance at Demi. Her face is slate white.
“That’s wild! That’s just wild!” Peaches says, because she doesn’t understand anything I just said. None of them does. They think it’s overkill. They think it’s too much. But for Graham it might not be enough.
“I’ll be going home straight after dinner,” Mitsi says. The saint. “I don’t want to be around the boys when they get crazy!”
“It sounds a little dangerous,” Sienna says.
“It is a little dangerous,” I say. “That’s what makes it fun.”
“You’re just trying to impress Graham,” Posey snips. She’s entirely correct.
“He is her husband,” Peaches points out. “I think it’s sweet.” She makes a face. “I just wish Henri wasn’t playing. No offense but Graham is kind of a bad influence on him.”
“Graham’s a bad influence on everyone,” Posey says.
It strikes a chord. I’ve never been honest about Graham with Posey. Of course I haven’t. That would be weird. It’s awkward to even acknowledge that you dated the same person as someone else—loved them, pretended they were the only one for you—let alone have an actual conversation about that person with them. But I do wonder if she has some stories that would sound like mine.
I glance at Demi again. She looks uncomfortable. As always.
“You’ll have to play,” I tell her.
“No, thank you.” She swallows, watching the bubbles rise in her untouched champagne. “It’s not my kind of thing.”
“But you must.” She will.
“I don’t like violence,” she says in this sanctimonious thread of a voice.
I scoff. “I saw you punch a homeless guy.” The more she acts like a good girl, the surer I am that she is not. Margo said that she was nasty, that she left a trail of bodies on her rise to the top. This curled-in quiet is all an act. It has to be. A solid act, but still an act.
“You punched a homeless guy?” Peaches snorts. “Isn’t it usually the other way around?”
Sienna starts laughing suddenly, hysterically. I think she’s had too much to drink.
“I’ll play.” Demi’s voice is so quiet, I don’t think the others hear the edge. But I do. She says it again: “I’ll play.”
“Hooray!” I say, toasting her untouched drink. “You won’t regret it! It’s going to be so much fun.” I temporarily forget it won’t end well for her. I’m just glad she capitulated.
“What do I get if I win?”
I sip my champagne, nudge her playfully. “What you always get.” I smile, then quote her own words back to her: “To keep playing.”
* * *
DEMI HATES MY friends more than I do. It’s hard not to like her for it. We have all relocated to a private shopping room at a boutique on Rodeo Drive. My friends are still stuck on the homeless thing.
“My mom says they’re all, like, millionaires,” Peaches says, drunkenly twisting around in front of the full-length mirror in a beige taffeta dress. “That it’s just a lifestyle choice.”
“That’s a lot of fucking millionaires,” Demi grunts. She is slumped on the lounger beside me. I chose our outfits ages ago. Demi seemed perfectly happy for me to buy and pay for everything. She didn’t raise an eyebrow when I said I’d have it sent to our address.
“I once saw a Rothschild busking on the Third Street Promenade.” Peaches scoots in beside Mitsi, wearing the same taffeta dress and looking just as bad in it.