Joan stood in the Esprit store—looking in the full-length mirror at herself in the blue floral dress Donna had insisted she try on—completely taken aback.

“Joan?” Donna called from the other side of the fitting room door.

“Yeah?”

“How does it look?”

“I don’t know.”

“Show me.”

Joan looked at herself one more time and then came out of the dressing room.

Donna gasped. “Jesus jumped-up Christ.”

When she was off the clock, Donna had taken to teasing her hair so it was big and voluminous. She was wearing a red denim skirt with a high slit and a white-and-yellow strapless top. She’d put it on in the dressing room, then handed the saleslady the tags and asked her to bag up her old clothes. “You have to buy that,” Donna said.

“I do?” Joan looked at the price tag. She could just hear her father’s outrage at the audacity.

“Have you had those tits this whole time, Joan? My God.”

“Stop it. Please stop that.”

“You have to buy it! Wear it out of the store like I am. Let’s have fun! We’re only in New Orleans for one night.”

Joan looked down at the way the dress hit her body. The hem was so short. She could feel herself curving inward. “It’s too much,” she said. “It’s so flashy.”

“You’re buying the goddamn dress.”

Donna grabbed her arm and led her out past the other fitting rooms. She ripped the tag off the dress.

“Donna!” Joan said.

“I’ll pay for it if I have to.”

Lydia walked over, trying on a jean jacket. “Joan, you look really pretty.”

“Wow,” Donna said under her breath. “Hot enough to melt the ice queen.”

Vanessa was at the front, looking at men’s striped shirts. She glanced up, scanning the store, and saw them. When her eyes landed on Joan, Joan flushed. She put her hands to her opposite shoulders, as if she could cover up the blush of her skin. Vanessa shook her head and smiled. And then caught Joan’s eye and mouthed, “You look great.”

“Excuse me, miss?” Donna said to the saleslady.

When the woman turned to them, it was Joan who spoke up: “I’ll take this.”

—

The air was sticky, and the light pollution on Bourbon Street was so terrible that you could barely see a star in the sky. Joan was sweating on her upper lip and at the base of her collarbone.

Duke and Hank had each bought her a beer earlier. Harrison bought her a fruity drink that tasted like candy. She’d never had this much attention from them, and she’d had more to drink tonight than she’d ever had in her life. Griff bought her a flower, and she took it and laughed.