“Have you done this before?”
“Certainly not this exactly.” He smirks and says nothing else. “You shouldn’t be morose about it, darling. You’ve won. Very few people win. Would you rather lose?”
“Lyla will tell them it was me. It’s her word against mine.”
He shakes his head. “Lyla is smart. She knows when she’s been beaten. She’ll go along with the game. Come on.” He reaches out his hand. “Let’s have a drink before the police get here. I wish you would be more appreciative, darling. My mother always taught me to say thank you. Manners are the only thing that separates us from the animals.”
“Thank you.”
“Good girl.”
I take his hand. Michael doesn’t move. I follow Graham up the stairs to the party.
LYLA
Three months into my stay, a name shows up on my visitor list: Helen Peters. I don’t recognize the name, but I approve it anyway. Maybe it’s someone I knew in school. Maybe it’s the new tenant, onto Margo and Graham’s game. I don’t care who it is. I am so bored in prison. I have a roommate, so it’s kind of like college but the girls are meaner. They play games where no one wins. I will be out soon. I’m looking forward to it but I’m also afraid. A life is such a dangerous thing to have. I’m surprised everyone gets one. Most people don’t know what to do with it.
I take my spot at one of the tables. It’s my first time having a visitor. My parents are happy with their wedding present. Post–prison sentence, they probably feel only more justified in choosing money over me. Posey sent me a postcard from St. Barts: I can’t believe you’re in jail! Graham is such an asshole! I pinned it to my wall. Who would have thought that Posey would be my only real friend?
This is a low-security prison. It’s like a country club without champagne. Visiting hours seem like a chance for prisoners to ream out their loved ones. One woman is mad that her husband doesn’t visit enough. Another is pissed at her son for getting a tattoo. Another one is crying because her family couldn’t bring their dog in.
I am watching the door when Demi walks in. My stomach drops. She is dressed all in white. What a bitch; that’s Margo’s color. It makes me like her. No, it makes me love her.
A genuine smile spreads across my face as she takes the seat across from me. “Helen Peters?” She shrugs. “You look good.” Who wears white to prison? Rich people. People so out of touch they don’t realize how bad it looks.
“Thank you,” she says, shifting in her seat. Her eyes narrow as she takes in our surroundings, always analyzing. Always looking for a way out. “I wanted to thank you for . . . for what you did.”
“It’s nothing.” I toss my hand. Nine months in prison? Easy. I do it all the time. “I’ve done a lot of bad things. I deserve to be punished for something, even if it’s something I didn’t do.”
“I appreciate it.”
I don’t say anything. It’s a power move. Pathetic but it’s all I have.
“Do you have anything you want to ask?” she finally says.
“You came to me.” She shifts, uncomfortable in her white linen. “I’m guessing you’re starting to see what I was dealing with. The games these people play. I could have warned you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Would you have believed me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be out soon. For good behavior.”
“Graham wants to have you committed.”
“You won’t let that happen, will you?” I stand to leave, rap the table once with my knuckle. It’s the only card I have left to play.
DEMI
I am living in the glass house. I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I’m rich.
Graham works all the time, and when he’s not working, he goes on his golf trips. I am almost always alone. It is perfect. I sit on a chair next to the door so I can see the whole house, the way the floor stretches on and on, stops just short of forever.
The castle above us is being renovated. Margo is on vacation, a pilgrimage through Spain in Bean’s honor. She still doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t even know she’s met me. I skipped her farewell party. I convinced Graham it was better that way. The fewer people who know the truth, the more secure my position. Graham is a problem, I will admit. He’s obsessed with me now, but I have a feeling he’ll get bored.
One Friday night, he comes home early, finds me in my spot, drinking Mo?t and watching the sky fall.