Marlene seemed slightly placated by the fact that she was getting Lola’s favorite color, as opposed to whatever Scarlett was wearing. Scarlett touched her lips. Was it too dark? Did she look like a clown? No. Lola didn’t make mistakes like that.

“We will be late if we don’t hurry,” Lola said, extending her hand. “And remember, when we see Mom, don’t say anything, okay? You’re in on my secret. I need you to keep it.”

Marlene accepted the hand and walked with Lola, brushing past Scarlett without a word.

“You know what?” Scarlett said, as they got to the elevator. “I’ll take the stairs. It’ll look more…convincing. See you down there.”

Lola threw her a look over Marlene’s head that might have meant, “I’m sorry” or “Please don’t sweat too much in my dress” or both.

The Mercedes was waiting silently outside the hotel. Chip, Number Ninety-eight himself, was sitting in the backseat. He had a copy of The Wall Street Journal on his lap, which Scarlett found hilarious. Chip had never struck her as a reader. In fact, when she called up a mental picture of how he spent his free time (which she sometimes did), she always pictured him playing with an Etch-A-Sketch and not quite getting how it worked. She was never sure why, but it seemed to fit.

It was hard for Scarlett to tell if Chip was actually handsome, or if his pricey haircuts, regulation rich boy tan, lacrosse body, and sublime dental work caused the illusion of handsomeness. He had golden-reddish hair, much like Marlene, really huge eye-brows (which Spencer suspected he got waxed into shape), and big pouty lips.

Lola managed to lean in first and gave him a little kiss before Marlene squeezed into the car. She loved Chip. Sometimes she seemed to love him more than Lola did.

“There might not be enough room back here for all four of us,” Chip said, nodding a greeting at Scarlett. “Someone should ride up front.”

He didn’t say, “You should ride up front.” Not directly. But it was understood, since Lola and Marlene were already in the back. As she got in, she glanced up and saw Mrs. Amberson looking down at them curiously from her perch on the not-a-balcony. She raised her cigarette. Scarlett gave a half-hearted wave and got into the car.

“We’re making a stop first,” Chip called up to the driver. “Rockefeller Center.”

The car glided into action at his command.

“You will never believe this,” Chip said to Lola. “My parents are sending me to this class called Steering Wealth in a few weeks. It’s for people who, you know, are going to inherit stuff and have to know how to do stuff with it. Hedge funds and stuff. I have to go all the way to Boston to sit around in some hotel for three days.”

Lola tutted in sympathy. Scarlett made a fake crying face. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the driver crack a small smile.