They looked at me with boozy, sleepy eyes and gave me a thumbs-up. It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but I returned the gesture anyway.

It was just another reminder of how out of my element I was. This was Gabe’s life—all this endless partying—and two days in I was already exhausted. How could someone maintain this kind of lifestyle?

I looked around and could see that some of the veneer I’d admired when I first arrived—the same kind of polish I’d noticed at last night’s premiere—had begun to rub off.

Tucked in among the younger, more fresh-faced guests were a few that looked like they had been partying since this house was new. There was a worn-out seediness to them, those deep lines around the eyes that said they’d been around this town far too long.

It felt like a warning.

To me. To everyone here.

Jelly beans sloshed around in my stomach, all alone.

“Come on,” Gabe urged his guests, most of whom seemed to have a general idea of what was going on.

Some of the more wizened partygoers made their retreat, taking out packs of cigarettes as they migrated to the backyard. Whatever was about to happen, it was clear that it wasn’t for them.

I had no clue what was going on, but I got back on my feet anyway.

Gabe was walking around the room, pointing at people and saying “one” or “two,” like my PE teacher did in middle school when it was time to play dodgeball.

Gabe reached me—his finger mid-point. I should have been a one.

“Two,” he said instead, and then pointed at himself. “Two.”

He finished going around the room and then he was back in front of me.

“Come on,” he said, taking my arm. “You’re on my team.”

The game was called Running Pyramid. All of us were instructed to write a list of ten things. We were to show them to no one.

“I don’t know what to put on my list,” I said to no one in particular.

“Anything you want, darling,” Ollie said. “But don’t get too complicated.”

He had appeared next to me, though I couldn’t say when. If he was drunk, he was hiding it well.

Gabe too. If not for the heavy hood of his eyes and the slight lean that only the most focused observer might note, I might have assumed he was sober.

“I don’t even know what would be too complicated,” I told Ollie.

Someone passed out paper and pencils. I was impressed by how well-organized this game was, but by the time the materials had reached me, I’d already forgotten what I was supposed to do with them.

“Ten things?” I asked Ollie.

He glanced over at me and gave me a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, love,” he said. “You’re just about tits up, aren’t you?”