Owen is sitting in his car. He was the one who came out and found Lulu standing, shivering, mute, in The Hotel’s driveway. He put his jacket around her shoulders and when she wouldn’t go inside he coaxed her into his car. “Bea’s,” she told him. “If you want to do something, take me to Bea’s,” and he did.

Lulu sends a mental apology to Kiley for depriving her of her rightful midnight kiss. She waves at him, Hi, I’m fine, and he flashes his lights in response and starts backing out of the driveway.

“Are you okay?” Bea asks again.

“I’m fine,” Lulu says. “Something bad happened. But I’m fine. Look at me. I’m fine.”

“You always look fine, Lulu!”

Bea stands back to make room, so Lulu walks into the house, over the threshold, into the familiar space. There’s mail on the side table and it smells like Bea’s house always does, like her own almost-home.

“Where were you?” Bea asks.

Lulu follows Bea into the kitchen. “I don’t want anything,” she says.

“I might.”

“Is Rich upstairs?”

“Mmmm.”

“I was at a party,” Lulu says. “At the—at the hotel property Ryan owns.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Can we put that on hold for tonight?”

“Put what on hold?”

“Our argument,” Lulu says. “Any argument.”

“Oh, so now that you need me we’re friends again?”

“Yes,” Lulu agrees. “Now that I need you. I really need you, B.”

Her voice must convey how desperate she is, because Bea just sighs. “Oh, girl,” she says, and holds open her arms.

After a while, Bea goes upstairs to let Rich know what’s going on. When she comes back down, she grabs a bottle of champagne out of the fridge and brings it and Lulu up to her bedroom.

“Where’s Rich?” Lulu asks.

“Jerking off in the shower.”

“Right,” Lulu says. “I forgot. Happy New Year.”

Somehow, that’s what does it—breaks the seal of tension between them, so that they both dissolve into helpless, eye-watering laughter.

“Happy New Year!” Bea says, miming a jerk-off motion, her hands describing a dick so big they don’t touch around it.

“Happy New Year!” Lulu cries, and pops the top off the champagne so that it fizzes and splashes onto her hands, and then the floor.

“My rug!” Bea yelps.

“MY LIFE,” Lulu yelps back. She sucks the foam out of the bottle. It spills, wet and white, down her chin.

“Give me,” Bea says. “Give it here,” so Lulu does.

Out of habit, she checks her phone.

Ryan sent her a link to a website. When she opens it, he has the photographs for sale. He’s calling the exhibition LOOK AT THIS. He’s selling it like he owns it. Like he owns her.

“What?” Bea asks.

“Well,” Lulu says. “You wanted to know what happened? This is what happened.”

She hands her phone to Bea.