Tupper held out his hand and she stepped forth out of the goo, a messy Venus entering an awestruck, unprepared world. The merry, drinking crowd applauded and snapped pictures on their phones, thrilled to have been a part of one of Elizabeth Paulsen’s infamous works of art. They would embrace her now. If that’s what she’d been going for, she’d achieved it.

Chapter 16

Roy shifted his feet in the tight space and scribbled more notes. Wendy had found him a little closet and a legal pad and pen. On the other side of the door a bass drum pounded, cymbals clashed, and a woman growled, “Why can’t I get just one kiss?”

A literary critic from The New Yorker had written once that “the everlasting appeal of a Roy Clarke novel, however limited in scope, is his awareness that we are all in this together.” The critic had gone on to say that even though Roy’s books “all take place in a bubble,” Roy had an “uncanny ear for irony and the absurdity of life,” and that was what made reading his novels “feel like stroking an affectionate cat.”

He needed to blow things up and stroke the cat.

Roy’s pocket jolted violently. He retrieved his phone and read the text message from Tupper.

Where are you? You’re missing everything. She’s HERE!

Someone knocked on the closet door and Roy opened it, eager to escape his scary book and even scarier thoughts.

“We’re singing soon,” Peaches announced. “I put our names down.”

Roy enjoyed singing, but only in his head. “Must I? I’m not sure that I can.”

Peaches ripped the notes he’d written out of the legal pad and tucked them into his jacket pocket. “Think of it as research. And anyway, you have to meet Elizabeth. She came out.”

Elizabeth’s birthing of herself had stolen the show, but only briefly. Stuart was watching Mandy now. Something about her was different. Was it really just the pot? Or maybe it was he who was different. Mandy sat at a small table to the left of the door, looking beautiful and confident, talking to their neighbors, snacking on fancy snacks, sipping wine. Her black hair was shiny, her skin flawless, her smile bright. She was still chubby, but in a hot way. She wasn’t yawning or complaining, she was laughing. Stuart was intrigued. Maybe it was because he was high and drunk and had just sung “Purple Rain” with a bunch of strangers, but the Mandy over there in the chair was not the same tired and sullen Mandy stuck in bed for the last few months. She was someone completely shiny, sexy, and new. She was gorgeous.