“But, but…” Eleanor whined, giving Alexander a confused look. “It’s almost one in the morning, shouldn’t we leave? You know I’m prone to dark circles when I don’t sleep enough.”

“Anna’s staying,” Alexander said, putting his arm around his sister’s shoulders. “C’mon, I need to get a cup of coffee to warm up before we head out.”

Eleanor held her ground. “What do you mean, she’s staying? We drove all this way to get her. This is so not fair to me.”

“It was a mistake. My mistake,” Alexander responded. He waited for a moment longer, and then he, too, continued walking toward the tent.

“Alexander!” Eleanor cried out, stomping her foot in the wet grass. “Wait for me!”

When Alexander and Eleanor entered the tent, Anna was sitting on the floor next to Beatrice, who was in Rooster’s lap. Surrounding them were Olivia, Brayton the ballerina (who was dressed as Belle from Beauty and the Beast), and Adaka. Alexander walked past them to the coffee station by the desserts, and fixed himself a double espresso, which he needed before he made the long drive back to Greenwich, especially with an unhappy Eleanor in the passenger seat. He walked back to the couch area and stood behind Anna. Anna didn’t turn to greet him.

“Beatrice, thank you for the lovely party, but Eleanor and I are going to head out now,” he said in a subdued voice. He was about to turn and go, as he had fulfilled his duty by thanking the host, but he stopped. “Also, I apologize. It was rude of me to not show up in costume.”

“No apology necessary,” said Beatrice, who had just taken a hit from the hookah, which contained a purple budded hybrid called Crunchberry. She exhaled a huge plume of smoke that rose and shrouded Alexander in a momentary fog. Beatrice smiled, the squinty-eyed smile of the super-stoned. “If anyone asks, just say you came as a giant dick.”

XXVII

Vronsky and Murf were perched on two different sturdy branches of a hundred-year-old oak tree in the center of the circular driveway. It hadn’t been an easy tree to climb, but they managed it by carrying over a large decorative urn from the front steps of the house. The urn weighed at least two hundred pounds, but between the two of them, they beasted it to the base of the tree.

Murf was rolling a blunt in his lap while Vronsky stared off, looking dejected. “You goin’ true Scotsman under there, flying commando?” Murf asked, nodding at Vronsky’s kilt.

“No freeballin’ tonight,” he said. “Gotta keep it classy. Anna’s here, I mean … she was.”