Lola cocked her head to the side noncommittally. She never said that Chip was rich. The word seemed vulgar to her. It was always well-off or comfortable, but the real word was rich. The pink diamond stud earrings that sparkled demurely when she tucked her hair behind her ears, the stack of stubs of opera and ballet tickets…these were all reminders that while Lola was still a Martin, she spent some of her time in a very different world.

“There’s nothing wrong with what Chip is,” Lola said. “Having money doesn’t make him a bad person. Spencer is hung up on this idea of being a poor actor.”

“I don’t think he wants to be poor. He wants to work.”

“Nobody wants to be poor. But you need to use some sense if you want to avoid ending up that way. Look at us. Look at where we live.”

“You make it sound like we live in a burned-up car under a bridge,” Scarlett said. “We live in a hotel, in the middle of Manhattan.”

“Exactly. This place is worth millions. We should be rich, too. But we’re not. I’m pretty sure we barely own this place anymore. We can live in it, but if we left it, we’d have nothing but debt. This place owns us.”

There was a slight edge creeping into Lola’s usually calm voice that unsettled Scarlett.

“It’s not that bad,” Scarlett said.

“Not that bad? Scarlett, where are your friends this summer, while you’re here?”

This was a bit of a low blow.

“All I’m saying,” Lola went on, returning to her reasonable tone, “is that we all have to face the fact that we live here, and that things are like they are. Mom and Dad break their backs to keep things going. They do every job now. He’s had a year to try. And if there is a scholarship offer, he should take it.”

Scarlett’s eyes automatically turned to the graduation cap that sat on the top of Lola’s dresser.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Lola said, getting up and opening her armoire. “I have my year now to figure out what I want to do next. I have my job, which I love. And in the meantime, I have somewhere I have to be tomorrow. So, is it a deal? Because if it is, I have something special for you to wear.”

She lifted out a plastic garment bag attached to a thickly padded hanger. She hung this on the edge of the door and unzipped it, revealing a sleekly-cut black summer dress—light enough for day, dressy enough for night. The perfect dress. It was Dior. Chip had purchased it for Lola two months before for some event that required a designer label. This was Lola’s biggest gun—the most valuable thing she owned, aside from the pink diamonds.

“This must be important,” Scarlett said.

“It would mean a lot to me.”

“Where exactly would I be taking her?”