“What makes you think they’ll be any different after the party?”

That, Lola was not prepared to answer. She closed the book decisively and reached for another bag.

“Now,” she said. “Where’s Spencer? I have to see him in this suit. I’m almost positive this will be a great fit. I mean, I know his general size and his pants measurements were up on eBay anyway. Look!”

She unzippered another Bergdorf bag. There was a sharp, gray pin-striped suit inside.

“And these go with it,” she said, indicating various bags. “Shirt, shoes, cuff links. It’s the perfect suit. I mean, if you were going to have one suit in your whole life, this should be that suit. And he can carry a suit so well, you know, because he’s got the height going for him. We might have to take the trousers up a half inch or so, and I had to guess on the shirt since he has long arms, so I just bought three and we’ll see which one works.”

“I don’t think he’s here,” Scarlett said.

“Okay, well…let’s show Marlene her dress!”

The clothes seemed to make Lola manic—giving her focus, something she could understand. Something she could share. She plucked up Marlene’s garment bag and hurried down the hall, forgetting that Marlene still wasn’t very happy with her.

Marlene was on her bed, yet another biography of Princess Diana open in front of her, but it didn’t seem like she was reading.

“You really like Princess Diana,” Scarlett said.

Marlene gave Scarlett a look that suggested that another pointless conversational remark about Princess Diana might result in a Princess Diana biography making contact with her face. At least she was acting kind of normal.

“I got you a dress,” Lola said.

“I don’t care.”

Lola ignored this and hung the bag on the closet door. She unzipped it, revealing what looked like a rose-colored ballerina outfit. Marlene stared at it, then turned right back to her book.

“Well?” Lola said hopefully.

“Looks expensive,” she said. “I guess you’re rich now.”

They left her alone. Lola insisted on waiting for Spencer to get home, and got a similar reaction—he stared at the suit on his bed, asked who died, and shut his door. Lola never once stopped smiling.

“Tomorrow,” Lola said as she prepared to go. “I scheduled your fitting with the seamstress at four. And get Spencer to try on his suit, please? You’re the only one on my side.”

She reached out and grabbed Scarlett’s hand for support.

“Sure,” Scarlett said. “I’ll try.”

The Violent Impulse

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PARTY AT POINT MANHATTAN