They stood in Odilie’s bathroom now, the sink and counter covered with makeup. Cream, powder and paint smudged the edges of the mirror, clouding the corners of their reflections. Odilie had it all down now, the primer and light foundation, the highlighting and contouring, the way she could fill out her brows to look more alive, the slow and steady lining of her lips. “You’ll need to get new injections soon,” Peri commented, glancing over at Odilie as she curled her lashes, so thick and voluminous that she never needed falsies or extensions.

They finished their makeup, exited the bathroom to Kitty holding her crotch. “You could have left the door unlocked,” she growled, planting herself over the toilet bowl without even closing the door.

“Do it in the kitchen sink next time, sweetie,” Peri sang out, grabbing a bottle of Chablis that had been chilling in the fridge.

“She’s scared of you, you know,” Odilie said as they pulled on their dresses, hooked each other, took swigs from the mouth of the wine bottle, redoing their lipstick and littering their purses with pills, Kleenex, keys. Odilie hadn’t seen the scissors in a while, the sewing ones, and she imagined she’d dreamt all of it, the nick Peri had given her while she was high, the blood a delusion brought on by the satin sun that had made her head swirl.

“I know she is. And that’s her own fault. I can’t cater to everyone.” Peri shrugged, spritzed on perfume, her shoulders shimmering with its fragrant dewiness. She stepped back, took a good look at Odilie. “God, you’re beautiful. I’m so jealous of you, I could push you out this window. But then who would my best friend be? Everyone else is so fake, so horribly vain. But us, we get each other, you know?”

Odilie gazed back at her best friend, the two-piece outfit she wore, lacy black-and-white flowers on a matching crop top and skirt, her hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail, hoops hovering so wide they grazed her cheeks. “You’re not jealous of me,” she answered softly, grabbing the bottle of Chablis from Peri’s hands, guzzling down the last dregs of it herself.

“I could be, one day. But where would that leave us?” Peri reached out to untwist a strap of Odilie’s dress, black and billowy, short, her feet shod in five-inch heels, spindly legs for miles. It was a Peri outfit, one she would never have dreamt to wear herself. But here she was, in it, maybe a vision, her lips overlined, her hair straightened into the sleekest version of her bob, cat eyes. An entirely different person from three months ago. She relished it.