Zanne took a few steps back, hands up. She saw Julia at the next cubicle lower her head and squint her eyes in a pantomime of concentration.

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk, okay?”

Gaby screwed up her lips and put out her palm, as if to say, it’s your funeral. Zanne took her back to the conference room where they’d had lunch, where not twenty minutes ago she’d wanted to be inside her. She closed the door and sat down, hoping Gaby would follow suit. Gaby stood.

“Okay, obviously I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry. You’re mad about the dress?”

“I’m not mad about the damn dress, Zanne. What is wrong with you? Where is my girlfriend?”

“I’m right here.”

“Really? Because you seem pretty numb. Either that, or you’re completely okay with everything going on here.”

Zanne felt a twinge of embarrassment, the adrenaline rush of her discovery a moment ago—did Ted still pine for Phoebe? He would have to, wouldn’t he, to move that photo across the room where he could look at it every day?—still humming through her. Everything going on here was so broad. It could mean anything—the zoo outside, this developing soap opera Zanne was entangled in, the general excess of the ultrawealthy.

“I know this place can be weird,” Zanne said. “There’s a lot of privilege. Their castoffs could feed and clothe an army.”

“It’s not just that. Plenty of people have money. Hell, my parents have money.”

“Then what?”

“Look,” Gaby said, pushing her phone into Zanne’s hands. It was the job posting on InsideScoop, marked up with snark, the butt of the joke.

“Katya told me about this, but I hadn’t seen it yet.” She scanned the first ten or so comments. She didn’t need to see more to understand that Gaby agreed with all of it.

“Why does Flora call her Señora, but everyone else calls her Holly?” Gaby asked.

It was true. When new staff members called Holly Mrs. Stabler, she corrected them. “Please, we’re casual here,” she’d say. “Call me Holly.” But she never corrected Flora and Letty when they called her Señora.

“And why do Flora and Letty wear uniforms? No one else here does.”

Zanne looked down at her concert tee. Even now, dressed for the party, she hadn’t changed out of it, aware that there was a certain cachet in looking this accidental and that she could pull it off where others couldn’t.