Jake led us to the middle of the room, then turned around to face us like a tour guide. “Some of you know the drill,” he said. “Bags open, IDs out.” Two men went purse to purse, checked IDs, offered iPads, electronic forms cued up on the screens. “For insurance,” Jake said. “Everyone has to sign.” We all signed. There was some laughter over the difficulty of doing anything with acrylic tips. A few of the girls already had them, prosthetic talons shaped like coffins. Upstairs we’d each receive fresh sets, neon green with panther stickers. We would cohere, down to the nails.

We wanted to cohere. The infinity pool and movie theater and bowling alley, we wanted to see them. We wanted our manicure, blow out, wax, spray tan.

We walked in a group fronted by Jake. Through the house, into an elevator, everyone excited. Musical guest, we chattered, product, champagne, Blaze. Jake stood close, took my hand, squeezed it. “Open up,” he said and fed me a pill. I swallowed, smiled my trademark smile.

“How’s your mom?” he asked.

“Okay,” I said. “Better.”

The doors opened. Jake showed us to a room as big as a small club, with makeup chairs and plastic tents for tans and modesty curtains that hid wax tables, massage tables. And everywhere girls, seated and splayed, phones up, selfie-ing, a surround-sound Beyonce sing-along.

“Ella will help you out,” Jake yelled to our group over the din. “Ella!” he yelled even louder. She arrived wearing a white tracksuit, holding a rose gold iPad.

“Overseeing the flow of traffic,” she said. I elbowed past a few girls to get close to Jake.

“Now I feel out of the loop,” I said. I hadn’t expected Ella, just as I hadn’t expected Jake. But Ella’s presence was a relief. Maybe we would spend the whole party together; having her around to show me the ropes was preferable to being alone.

Jake kissed my cheek. “Ella knows what you need,” he said.

I said, “You okay?”

He kissed me on the mouth, called me baby. “Just have fun,” he said, and was gone again.

THE GET-READY ROOM was like a triage unit, everyone there to cure or be cured. In the back there was a table with food on it, orange juice, champagne. I walked over, ate a peach, watched Ella put girls in chairs and note what services they needed. I finished the fruit in three bites and my brain fizzed. I mashed another into my mouth and my body began to settle, with pills or food, I didn’t care. I was okay, it would be okay, only my first time, no way I was supposed to know what to expect. I was chewing when Ella came to me.

“I’m so tired,” she said and air-kissed my cheeks.

“What about that biotoxin test?” I asked. “Any answers?”

She looked at her iPad.