Page 63 of The Lost Heiress
“Are you a prig or something?” RJ asked, lighting a cigar. “What do you have against a good time?”
Heat bloomed in Florence’s cheeks. Astrid leaned over and put her hand on top of Florence’s on the table.
“I know you’ve been very sad since Granny died,” Astrid said. “I can see how much you loved her. But I know Granny, and I know she wouldn’t want this for you, all this moping around. If she were here, she’d say, ‘My girl, you’re seventeen, not seventy. Go out and have agood time.’ So do it for Granny. Do it for yourself. Come out with us. It’s our last night here. Don’t waste it.”
For the second time that week, Astrid had surprised her. So often, Florence thought Astrid to be vain and flighty, and maybe she was. But she also had her moments of insight, her moments of compassion, however rare and far between they were.
“All right,” Florence said, and Astrid smiled.
“Splendid,” Astrid said, cutting into her steak with renewed vigor. “Come to our room after dinner, and we can get ready together.”
Astrid insisted Florence borrow one of her dresses, a strapless cocktail gown that nipped in at the waist. Florence had never worn a strapless gown before, and she felt naked with her shoulders exposed. Astrid had to keep reminding her not to cross her arms in front of her chest, not to hunch forward.
“You’re prettier than you think, you know,” Astrid said as she applied blush to the apples of Florence’s cheeks. “Besides, half of being attractive is believing you’re attractive. People notice how you carry yourself before they notice the symmetry in your face or how slim your waist is. I saw it all the time at school—girls who, when you really stopped to look at them, were no more than average, getting all the attention from the boys, as if they were a nine instead of a six, and girls who really were quite pretty never getting noticed, because they wore the wrong clothes or hunched their shoulders. Believe you’re worth looking at, and others will believe it too.”
It surprised Florence, how much she enjoyed herself. The music at the club was loud. She could feel the thrum of the bass in the heels of her shoes as they stood in line at the bar, the vibration climbing her calves, settling into the base of her stomach. They did a round of shots first, and then Astrid handed her something red and sweet to drink that she didn’t catch the name of. Florence let Astrid take her by the hand and lead her into the throng of the dance floor, so many bodies pressed together, the air hot and sticky and stale. Florence let some man she’d never met put his arms around her, and she closed her eyes and movedwith the music. With alcohol coursing through her veins, she felt brave and alive.
When they left the club near dawn, Florence had to grip onto Astrid’s arm so as not to stumble in her heels. RJ walked slightly ahead of them, fishing a lighter and a cigarette out of his pocket. The toe of his shoe caught on a loose pavestone, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees in the street, the lighter skittering away from him. Astrid and Florence laughed involuntarily, bleary eyed and drunk.
“Whoops-a-daisy,” Astrid said, which only made Florence laugh harder.
“It’s not fucking funny,” RJ said as he retrieved his lighter and stood up. “I smashed my goddamn lighter.”
“Okay, darling, I’m sorry,” Astrid said half heartedly. “I didn’t realize there were casualties, or I wouldn’t have laughed.”
Florence pressed her lips together to stop from giggling, but that only resulted in a very loud snort that set Astrid off again.
“Stop,” Astrid chided, laughing still herself. “We’re terrible people. We’re monsters.”
Florence went to Astrid and RJ’s room with them because Astrid insisted they have another drink before bed. RJ fumbled with the keys and flicked on the light.
“Oh, darling, your pants,” Astrid said, raising her hand to her lips.
Florence glanced over and saw the left knee of RJ’s trousers was ripped.
“It must have happened when you fell,” Astrid said, trying not to laugh. “Another casualty.”
“We lost a lot of good ones tonight,” Florence said, hiccupping.
It happened in an instant, the shift in the room. One moment, Florence and Astrid were laughing, and the next, RJ grabbed Astrid roughly by the throat and pushed her against the wall.
“Here’s something funny,” RJ said. “I could crush your throat like a kumquat.”
He squeezed, his knuckles white, and Astrid sucked at the air, unable to draw breath.
Then he let go and walked across the room to pour himself a drink. Astrid coughed and sputtered, clutching at her neck, tears in her eyes. Her skin was red and splotchy where his hands had been. She sat down on the bed.
“You want one?” RJ asked Florence, motioning to the decanter of brandy in his hand, but Florence just stood there, unable to move, unable to talk.
“What’s the matter?” RJ asked her, handing her a glass. “Come now, where’s your sense of humor? Can’t you take a joke?”
Florence barely slept. She tossed and turned all night, waking at the slightest sound. Twice she got up and went to the door, swearing she heard a quiet knocking. She was sure she’d find Astrid standing there in the dark, her jacket on, her suitcase by her side.Let’s go,she’d say, glancing nervously behind her.Before he wakes up. Before he knows we’re gone.But each time, the hall was empty. There was no one there.
In the morning, she met Astrid in the lobby. Astrid had on pedal pushers and a silk scarf tied around her neck.
“RJ’s gone to get the car,” Astrid said.
Florence reached out and touched Astrid’s arm. “Are you all right?” she whispered.
