Inside, Beatrice dismissed her two model sidekicks for the night. They went all sulky, pointy elbows and pouty lips, until Bea handed over a baggie of party favors. While the waitstaff cleaned up around them, Bea and Vronsky sat down in a leather booth and talked.

Bea told her cousin that she and Anna were friendly from years of attending the same school and social functions, but they weren’t close. “Such a waste,” his cousin mumbled. “She’s probably the most beautiful girl in Greenwich, but she never capitalized on what she could do with it.” She paused here and stared at Vronsky.

“Present company excluded,” he added, paying the flattery toll so Bea would continue.

Beatrice laughed brightly at his compliment. Vronsky was such a tasty-looking morsel, and more than once in a drunken horny stupor, she had thought about reaching over to check out his goods, but kept herself in check because as much as she lived for shock value, even she knew that getting busted for fooling around with family would be hard to recover from. Though she had heard from many sources that he was quite skilled in the boudoir, which is why she proudly started the rumor that his nickname “the Count” referred to the number of girls he had slept with.

“The problem is her snorendous and ridicu-perfect boyfriend.” She explained that before Alexander left for college, he made sure Anna still ran with his friends, who were in a different crowd than the one Bea ran with. She made Anna sound like the adorable mascot of a few uptight seniors at Greenwich Academy. “Those uppity Episcopalians aren’t as evil as the Midwest mega-church psychos, but are almost as clique-y. Her boyfriend’s half-sister Eleanor ran with a prudish rat pack of so called ‘good girls’ with iron chastity belts and matching headbands. My theory is Eleanor is secretly in love with the Greenwich OG and wishes she had the guts to go all Cersei Lannister with him.”

Vronsky wrinkled his brow but stayed silent. Nobody understood the intricate politics of Greenwich and Manhattan teen society better than his cousin, but like any teenager she was prone to hyperbole at times. Beatrice fed on the shock of others.

“You know, Anna does the whole horse thing and equestrian girls are always so serious. I blame the boots … though the crop I could get down with.”

Vronsky listened to Beatrice’s convoluted theory about how girls needed a love of high heels to become comfortable with their sexual place in the world, and young girls who wore riding boots daily were sexually repressed late bloomers. His cousin’s theory made no sense, but after a few more drinks he slowly started to understand what she was getting at.