The clouds unleashed and the heavy rain sent everyone outside scurrying in. The crowd in the gallery swelled until it was barely possible to move. Still, the mood remained electric. Dream-pop blared, champagne flowed, and the damp air smelled like weed.
Evie’s desire for Velma—for her attention, her distraction, her comfort—transcended simple want into naked need. It took Evie ten minutes to find her, crushed into a corner with someone. “Hey.” Evie clutched Velma’s shoulder. “There you are.”
“Hi.” Velma smiled at her. “Chloe, this is Annie.” She waved the tip of a beer bottle at a woman Evie instantly assumed was a model. Auburn hair in a short pixie cut, huge green eyes, a spray of cute freckles over a tiny nose. Closer to Velma’s age than Chloe’s. Velma’s hand rested casually on Annie’s forearm. Jealousy gripped Evie so quickly and unexpectedly that she almost choked. “Hi.” Evie had to force the word out.
“Hi, Chloe.” Annie’s voice was a too-cute purr. “So nice to meet you.”
Velma slipped her hand off Annie’s forearm far too slowly in Evie’s opinion. “Is everything okay with Willow?” Velma asked.
“Yeah,” Evie lied. “Fine. How do you guys know each other?”
The pair exchanged an amused look. “Velma broke into my apartment.” Annie giggled.
“I did not!” Velma said. “Tom broke the lock, if you recall, I just . . .”
“Yes,” Annie prompted.
“I . . . broke into her apartment,” Velma admitted. “You were supposed to leave keys!”
“I did, Tom lost them!” Annie said. “Remember what he told my landlord? ‘I’ve never lost anything—’ ”
“ ‘—except my virginity!’ ” Velma finished, and the pair dissolved into giggles. Once again, Velma’s hand found its way to Annie’s arm.
“What a . . . hilarious story,” Evie said, unable to drag her eyes off Velma’s fingers.
Annie gasped. “Do you remember him at karaoke?”
Velma’s eyes lit at the memory, and she began singing, “Hold me closer, Tony Danza—”
“Tom sounds like my kind of guy.” Evie addressed Annie. “Is he your boyfriend, or . . .”
The pair fell silent. “Actually, Chloe,” Velma said, “Tom passed away last summer, in a tragic polo accident.”
“Oh god,” Evie said. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea—”
The pair burst out laughing. “I’m kidding!” Velma spluttered. “I’m kidding. He’s married, he lives in Phoenix.”
“Right.” Evie was officially pissed. “What a fucking relief.”
“Sorry, kid.” Velma wiped a tear away. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“I think self-control is one of the most important human qualities there is,” Evie said. “That’s what stops men from being rapists and murderers, isn’t it? Self-control.”
The statement fell in the middle of the trio like an anvil. Annie glanced at her half-full beer bottle. “I’m just going to . . . use the bathroom.”
After she was out of earshot, Evie fixed Velma with a hooded stare. “Why don’t we get out of here?”
Velma glanced around the busy gallery. “What, now?”
Evie nodded. She put her hands around Velma’s neck, pulling herself close. “Just the two of us, listening to the storm . . . What do you say?”
Velma made a small noise of pleasure. “Actually, Annie suggested we all grab a drink at this little tapas bar across the road.”
“Oh really? Annie suggested that?” Jealousy was flowing so freely through Evie’s veins that she had to physically repress the urge to hiss the other woman’s name. She moved her lips an inch from Velma’s ear. “But Annie isn’t the one licking your pussy right now, is she?”
Velma’s cheeks colored.
“I just really want to get out of here,” Evie whispered. “Please?”
Velma met Evie’s eyes. Telltale arousal quivered around her mouth. Her eyes were dark, liquid moons.
Evie knew she’d won.
While Velma ducked away to call her driver, Evie found Krista pressed under the gallery’s awning, watching the rain bucket down. “I’m leaving with Velma.”
“Eager for her beaver, huh?” Krista brushed droplets of water off her arms. “Did you talk to Willow?”
“I fought with Willow. Does that count?”
“Oh, did you do that thing where you get angry at someone because you’re worried about them?”
Evie frowned, wanting to deny this, but at the same time feeling it might actually be true. She gazed out at the sheets of water slamming onto Wythe Avenue, roaring like a stadium crowd. “Maybe,” she murmured.
Krista edged back from the rivulets of water that had begun pouring from the roof. “Maybe I’m smarter than you think I am.”
Evie glanced at Krista, surprised. “I don’t—I think you’re smart.”
“Do you?”
“Yes! You got into law school, for fuck’s sake.”
Krista crinkled her nose. “You think I’m a hot mess, though. Right?”
Evie glanced at her, half smiling, unsure. She poked Krista’s shoulder. “I thought you liked being a hot mess.”
Krista stared out at the rain, silent, and Evie had the unusual sensation of wondering what Krista—she who wore her heart on her sleeve, she who had no filter—was thinking about. After a long moment, Krista said, “Have you turned back yet this week?”
“No, not yet.” After a second’s hesitation, Evie dug into her purse and sheepishly pulled out the small purple bottle with the smeared black lettering. “I borrowed this. And I know I had a hissy fit when you took it, but—”
“Dude, it’s cool,” Krista interrupted. “I don’t want it right now. What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to set an alarm—Velma always sleeps through it—and take it in the guest bathroom.” If all went according to plan, Velma wouldn’t even know she’d been up. If not, there was always the excuse of food poisoning.
“Pretty risky,” Krista said. Evie couldn’t tell if she was impressed or concerned.
“I’ve got it under control.”
“I really don’t know if you do, Evie.”
Evie felt a sharp twinge of irritation, but because Krista sounded concerned, not patronizing, the only response she could manage was a shrug.
Krista glanced back at the rain, and sighed. “Guess I’m just going to make a run for it.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I need some me time.”
Evie tried to hide her surprise. Krista had never initiated me time before in her life. Evie pulled her umbrella from her bag. “Use this. We’re taking Velma’s car.”
“Thanks, dude.” She circled her arms up around Chloe’s slender neck. “Have fun,” she said. “And be careful.”
Evie hugged her back. “I can’t believe you’re the one saying that to me.”
Krista opened the umbrella. “Well, you’re breaking all your own rules for her. But you must be aware of that.” Then she scampered off, up Wythe Avenue, disappearing almost instantly, swallowed up by the storm.
Evie gazed at the violet liquid in the tiny glass bottle. Krista was right: she was breaking her own rules. Staying at Velma’s place was extraordinarily risky. But the idea of Chloe not spending the night curled up in Velma’s arms was more than unpleasant. It was impossible.
The gallery doors opened, spilling music, laughter, shouted conversation. Two boys stumbled out, squealing, “Holy fuck, it’s pouring!” One of them shoved the other into the rain, but his sneakers skidded on the wet concrete and he tripped, knocking into Evie.
It happened so fast.
One minute she was holding the Pretty.
The next, she wasn’t.
The little purple bottle pitched out of her fingers, arcing toward the street. It landed in the swollen gutter, splashing soundlessly.
“Sorry!” laughed the boy before the pair made a run for it.
Evie lurched forward, into the downpou
r, stumbling after the Pretty as it was swept along in the wash of gray water. She didn’t even make it two steps before it disappeared down a grate in the city street. “No,” she exhaled. “No, no, no.” She fell to her knees in front of the grate, already soaked through, hoping desperately to see the bottle caught on the ledge, still within reach. Nothing. Just water, endless water, disappearing down, underneath the city.
She was numb as she returned to the awning, hair plastered to her skull, water dripping from her clothes, her elbows, her chin.
The Pretty was gone.
“Oh my god,” Velma said, laughing. “What happened?”
Evie stared at her, face aghast.
“Don’t worry.” Velma wiped away water from Evie’s cheeks with her thumbs. “We’ll get you dry at home.”
Evie just kept staring. The Pretty was gone. Chloe was gone: her sister, her better half. It was over. Everything with Velma was over.
“Chloe,” Velma tried again. “Baby. Are you ready to go?”
“I can’t go with you.” The words were a horrible whisper, not her voice, not her truth. “I can’t ever see you again.”
“What?”
“It’s just . . . It’s over.” Evie’s stomach was sour and her heart . . . something was squeezing her heart hard, cruelly cold.
“What’s over?” Velma frowned slightly.
“Me. You.” Evie stared at her miserably, her voice becoming a whimper. “Us.”
The door to the gallery widened once again, people from the opening talking, laughing, seeing the rain, retreating back inside. It was all just background noise, all disposable.
“Are you serious?” Velma’s forehead creased in confusion.
“This isn’t what I want to do.”
“Then don’t do it.” Velma’s voice rose, somewhere between annoyance and concern. “Is this about Annie?” She huffed a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m a flirt, always will be. But let’s not end the night like this.”
“I don’t want to.” Every word was a stab, painful in her chest. “I really, really like you. I like you so much.”
“I like you too, Chloe. Okay? I like you too.”
Evie closed her eyes, hot tears spilling down already damp cheeks. “Have you ever felt like you can’t show yourself—your real self—to someone?”
Velma’s voice was soft, somber, kind against her ear. “Hasn’t everyone?”
“I feel like that now—” Evie started, but her words were cut off as Velma’s mouth found hers. One kiss. Then another. And then they were making out, passionately, desperately, and Evie clung to Velma, not wanting the kiss to end, because she knew, she absolutely knew, it had to be the last one. When Velma finally pulled back, Evie opened her eyes slowly. She gazed at the woman in her arms, at her moist lips and concerned eyes.
“Good-bye, Velma Wolff,” Evie said before spinning to run, as fast as she could, into the rain-washed Brooklyn street.
70.
She was barely conscious of leading him into Meredith’s office, of the din from the party quieting as she pulled the door shut.
He knows, he knows, he knows.
Willow reached for the bag she’d stuffed under Meredith’s desk, willing there to be a few Valium left. Her fingers were numb. As she fumbled for the pills, a paperback fell out. Lacan and the Shadow Self. Mark’s eyes snapped to Willow’s. “That was the book—Why do you have her book? Are you—Was this a setup?”
“I don’t know,” Willow whispered, unable to look at him. “I don’t know what this is.”
“But how do you—Why did—” Mark shook his head, unable to make anything fall into place. “That morning, when you were in my bathroom. You knew—you knew that Caroline had”—he took a deep breath—“spent the night. You knew that.”
Willow nodded.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Where is she?” Mark’s voice was agitated. “Don’t tell me she’s here.”
“She’s here.” Willow started to cry softly. “But also . . . not.”
“Will.” Mark stood across from her. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”
“Okay,” she whispered. She inhaled, feeling sick. “You better sit down.”
He did. His expression morphed from anger to fear.
Willow drew in a long, shaky breath. “It started about a month ago. Krista. Someone gave something to Krista.”
“Someone gave Krista what?”
How could she possibly explain it? “Chaos. Beauty. The truth.”
She told him everything. Mark sat listening, eyes glazed, fingers pressed into both temples. At first, he couldn’t believe her. She was joking, she was high, she was trying to take him for a fool. But when Willow began recounting exact exchanges he’d shared with Caroline, when she explained she’d turned back to being Willow the morning he found her in his bathroom, when she told him it was Evie who’d grabbed his arm just now in the gallery, he’d started, finally, to accept it.
He shook his head, words sounding dumb and foreign. “Why did you take it?”
Willow shrugged morosely.
“No, really.” He sat up. “Why? You’re already beautiful.”
“I’m an acquired taste,” Willow said bitterly, quoting Mark’s own words from one of their first nights at Lenny’s.
Mark winced. He was silent for a few moments, studying her sadly. “I’m never going to know you,” he said. “You’re never going to let me.”
Willow dropped her head, hair spilling around her like a wall. Not denying it.
Mark stood up, shouldering his bag. “You know what hurts the most?” His jaw was set, his chest tight. He looked like he was trying hard not to cry. “That you never even thought about what would happen when I saw the photographs.” His voice cracked, but he forced the words to keep coming, one by one. “It never even crossed your mind.”
71.
Evie burst into the apartment, choking in gasps of air, drenched from head to toe. “I lost the Pretty! Someone pushed me, and I dropped it, and it’s gone.”
Krista ran to get a towel. Evie collapsed on the couch, soaking everything she touched. “I broke up with Velma.” Evie’s gaze was wide, wild, unhinged. “I couldn’t even tell her why.” She began sobbing, her chest shaking violently.
“Babe. Oh, babe.” Krista wrapped Evie in the towel, holding her as she wept. “Oh, Evie. It’s okay.”
“How is it okay?” Evie wailed. “I think . . . Oh god . . . I think I was falling in love with her.” Evie grabbed the corner of the towel and pressed her face into it, crying harder.
“Evie. Eve. Hey. Look at me.” Krista tipped Evie’s face up so her best friend met her gaze, sorrowful and snotty. “Do you really like her? Like, for real?”
“Yes,” Evie whispered.
Krista pressed her lips together resolutely. “Then you have to show her.”
“Show her what?”
Krista raised her eyebrows. “You have to show her the real you.”
Evie stared at her sullenly and huffed out a breath. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not.”
“She would never go for the real me!” Spelling it out for Krista added insult to injury. “Chloe Fontaine could be a model. She has a pretty-person job, she hosts a show, for chrissakes. Evie Selby is . . .” Short? Fat? Plain?
“Evie Selby is fucking awesome.” Krista’s voice shot up a register, so vehement that Evie jumped. “Evie Selby is funny as shit and cool as hell. Evie Selby was the one interviewing those celebs at the Arzners. Evie Selby is the one who wants to change things. She’s brave, and she’s smart, and she looks after me.” She met Evie’s stunned expression meaningfully. “Evie Selby is the best friend I have.”
Evie’s hand pressed into her chest. It took her a few moments to find her voice. “You’re my best friend too, Kris.”
Krista took Evie’s hand and squeezed it. “If she likes Chloe, then she likes you. You’re the one always saying women shouldn’t be judged by their appearance. So don�
�t judge yourself.” Her voice was compassionate. Her voice was sure. “Let her see the real you, Eve.”
72.
Velma’s foyer was strangely empty when Evie dashed inside. Lightning flashed overhead. A second later, thunder boomed. The storm was right overhead, as exuberant as a parade. But Evie wasn’t afraid. She whisked past the artworks and standing lamps, trying to quiet a pulse that insisted on being loud. She punched the elevator button and stepped into the mirrored square cube.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, heart racing.
How would Velma take it? Would she think she was crazy? Or would it be the start of . . . everything?
She wanted to be the girl Krista saw. Brave. Smart. Cool as hell. Someone who put things on the line, someone who knew her worth. Someone worth loving.
She was someone worth loving. And, oh, it was romantic. As the elevator doors slid open, her feet couldn’t move fast enough to Velma’s door. She would take it all back, she would fall into Velma’s arms, and tell her she loved her.
Ella Fitzgerald’s “At Last” drifted from inside, summoning a smile.
Their song.
Almost as if Velma already knew.
She pushed the familiar front door open, into her loft, her life, her love—
And froze.
Evie Elizabeth Selby had experienced her fair share of surprises over the last month. The fact a tiny bottle of purple liquid could inexplicably and illogically alter the physical appearance of her and her two best friends. The fact Willow’s boyfriend had been cheating on her with her Pretty self. The fact Tristan McKell had a micropenis. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight presented to her now. Velma, splayed on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, hair mussed, mouth open in shock, having jerked up and away from Annie’s exposed neck.
Air drained out of Evie’s lungs. “Oh my god.”
Annie shot up, hands whipping to cover her breasts. “Oh my god.”
“Chloe.” Velma’s eyes bugged. She struggled to pull herself away from the petite redhead. “What are you—How did you—”
Evie stared at Annie, who was fumbling desperately for her shirt in between shooting incredulous looks at Velma. “I took a car,” she said faintly. Outside, lightning flashed. Only Velma and Annie jumped when the thunder cracked, loud as a gunshot.
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