My parents had had a dinner party the night before he left. Several famous actors, artists, and musicians had attended. My father spent the evening sequestered on the porch with a Hollywood starlet. Her slip was showing at the dinner table, and so were her intentions. Mother hid herself away in the kitchen, stirring things that didn’t need to be stirred and leaving well alone the things that ought to have been unsettled.

There had been a huge fuss that week because I had dyed my hair blond, by myself in Mother’s bathroom. There were chunks of dark among the light where I hadn’t been able to reach. My father winced every time I floated past, a cloud of angry blond. He liked to think of me as his little baby when he liked to think of me at all.

The starlet was a blond, although it was better done than mine.

Although I didn’t usually drink, I tipped back two glasses of champagne in rapid succession before Liev snatched the glass from my hand. “What the hell are you doing?”

The bubbles kicked against my stomach and I named them in my head, these bubble babies. Out loud, I hissed, “You like me to be perfect, Liev, pure vestal virgin. But fuck you. I’ll drink if I like.”

“Don’t talk like that. You don’t have to talk like that to get my attention.”

“Don’t I? I saw you looking at her too. Why don’t you both fuck her?”

“Ruby!”

The tears began to roll down my round pink cheeks.

Suddenly I breathed, “I want to go to bed. Take me to bed.”

I was scooped up in his arms, a bedraggled, stinking romance heroine.

“Tuck me in, Liev.”

He tucked me in. My lipstick had been wiped away. Beneath the stench of cigarettes, my hair still smelled faintly of peroxide.

I reached forward to kiss him goodnight. In a flash, my tongue was in his mouth, melting on his gums like cotton candy. For a moment his tongue met mine, a sliver of a soupçon of the tip.

“Baby,” I whispered as he rested his mouth on mine. “Baby, I want to fuck.”

He pulled away from me. Like lips freed from an ice cube, he felt completely refreshed and totally burned. Shivering, he walked over to the en suite bathroom. Fading into sleep, I watched him wash his face.

I slept well that night, dreaming of him. He thought of me all night too, but did not sleep. By the time I woke up, hung over but fizzy with love, he had already been gone for several hours. Discovering his absence, I waited until eleven to wake my parents. By lunchtime I had taken up residence on the windowsill, my face pressed against the glass. By afternoon I had retreated to bed. A week later I was still there.