Don’t worry about a thing； OK？ You just concentrate on feeling
better； and I’ll take care of everything else。”
“I’ll e…mail you a checklist； just so you don’t forget
anything。”
“I won’t forget anything。 She’s been to Europe four times in
the past year。 I’ve got it down。 I’ll get the cash from the
basement bank； change a few grand into euros； buy a few more
grand’s worth of traveler’s checks； and triple confirm all of
her hair and makeup appointments while she’s there。 What else？
Oh； I’ll make sure the Ritz gives her the right Cell Phone
this time； and I’ll speak to the drivers ahead of time to make
sure they know they can’t ever leave her waiting。 I’m already
thinking of all the people who’ll need copies of her
itinerary—which I’ll type up； no problem—and I’ll see to it
that it gets passed around。 And of course she’ll have a
detailed itinerary as to the twins’ classes； lessons；
practices； and play dates； and full listings of the entire
household staff’s work schedules。 See！ You don’t have to
worry—I’ve got it all under control。”
“Don’t forget about the velvet；” she chided； singing the last
couple words as if on autopilot。 “Or the scarves！”
“Of course not！ They’re already on my list。” Before Miranda
packed for anything—or rather； had her housekeeper pack
her—either Emily or I would purchase massive rolls of velvet
at a fabric store and bring them to Miranda’s apartment。
There； we’d work with the housekeeper to cut them in the exact
shape and size of every article of clothing she was planning
to bring； and individually wrap each item in the plush
material。 The velvet packages were then neatly stacked in
dozens of Louis Vuitton suitcases； with plenty of extra pieces
included for when she inevitably threw the first batch out
upon unpacking in Paris。 In addition； usually one half of a
suitcase was occupied by a couple dozen orange Hermès boxes；
each containing a single white scarf just waiting to be lost；
forgotten； misplaced； or simply discarded。
I hung up with Emily after making a good effort to sound
sincerely sympathetic and found Lily stretched out on the
couch； smoking a cigarette and sipping a clear liquid that was
definitely not water from a cocktail glass。
“I thought we weren’t allowed to smoke in here；” I said；
flopping down next to her and immediately putting my feet on
the scuffed wooden Coffee table my parents had handed down to
us。 “Not that I care； but that wasyour rule。” Lily wasn’t a
full…time； mitted smoker like yours truly； she usually
smoked only when she drank and wasn’t one to even buy packs。 A
brand…new box of Camel Special Lights peeked out of the chest
pocket of her oversize button…down。 I nudged her thigh with my
slippered foot and nodded toward the cigarettes。 She handed
them over with a lighter。
“I knew you wouldn’t care；” she said； taking a leisurely drag
off her cigarette。 “I’m procrastinating and it helps me
concentrate。”
“What do you have due？” I asked； lighting my own cigarette and
tossing back the lighter。 She was taking seventeen credits
this semester in an effort to pull up her GPA after last
spring’s mediocre showing。 I watched as she took another drag
and washed it down with a healthy gulp of her nonwater
beverage。 It didn’t appear that she was on the right track。
She sighed heavily； meaningfully； and let the cigarette hang
suspended from the corner of her mouth as she spoke。 It
flapped up and down； threatening to fall at any moment and；
bined with her wild； unwashed hair and smeared eye makeup；
made her look—just for a moment—like a defendant onJudge Judy
（or maybe a plaintiff； since they always looked the same—lack
of teeth； greasy hair； dull eyes； and propensity for using the
double negative）。 “An article for some totally random；
esoteric academic journal that no one will ever read but I
still have to write； just so I can say I’m published。”
“That’s annoying。 When’s it due？”
“Tomorrow。” Total nonchalance。 She looked pletely unfazed。
“Tomorrow？ For real？”
She shot me a warning look； a quick reminder that I was
supposed to be on her team。 “Yes。 Tomorrow。 It really blows；
considering that Freudian Boy is the one who’s assigned to
edit it。 No one seems to care that he’s a candidate in psych；
not Russian lit—they’re just short copy editors； so he’s mine。
There’s noway I’m getting that to him on time。 Screw him。”
Once again； she poured some of the liquid down her throat；
making an obvious effort not to taste it； and grimaced。
“Lil； what happened？ Granted； it’s been a few months； but last
I heard； you were taking things slow and he was perfect。 Of
course； that was before that； thatthing you dragged Home； but
。 。 。”
Another warning look； this time followed by a glare。 I’d tried
to talk to her about the whole Freak Boy incident a few dozen
times； but it seemed like we were never really alone and
neither of us had much time lately for heart…to…hearts。 She
immediately changed the subject whenever I brought it up。 I
could tell that more than anything she was embarrassed； she
had acknowledged that he was vile； but she wouldn’t
participate in any discussion whatsoever about the excessive
drinking that was responsible for the whole episode。
“Yes； well； apparently at some point that night I called him
from Au Bar and begged him to e meet me；” she said；
avoiding eye contact； instead concentrating intently on using
the remote control to switch tracks on the mournful Jeff
Buckley CD that seemed to be on permanent replay in the
apartment。
“So？ Did he e and see you talking to； uh； to someone else？”
I was trying not to push her away even more by being critical
of her。 There was obviously a lot going on inside her head；
what with the problems at school and the drinking and the
seemingly limitless supply of guys； and I wanted her to open
up to someone。 She’d never kept anything from me before； if
for no other reason than I was all she had； but she hadn’t
been telling me much of anything lately。 It occurred to me how
strange it was that we hadn’t bothered to discuss this until
four months after the fact。
“No； not quite；” she said bitterly。 “He came all the way there
from Morningside Heights only to find me not there。 Apparently
he called my Cell Phone and Kenny answered and wasn’t all that
nice。”
“Kenny？”
“Thatthing I dragged Home at the beginning of the summer；
remember？” She said it sarcastically； but this time she
smiled。
“Ah…hah。 I’m guessing Freudian Boy didn’t take that well？”
“Not so much。 W