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Henry had thrown up his hands at such idiocy.
“Good morning,” he said now. His greeting was surprisingly pleasant, but also, Pandy noted, slightly artificial.
“Henry?” She shifted on the sheet. Tiny unidentifiable particles were pressing into her thighs. She wriggled around and extracted something that looked like a colorful shard of plastic. She examined it while gripping the phone tightly in her other hand.
“What are you doing today?” he asked with unexpected cheer. “Are you busy?”
“Why?” Pandy asked cautiously as she examined the particle between her fingers. It was a dried piece of cupcake frosting. She flicked it away.
“I was thinking it might be nice to get together. Meet in my office for a change. We haven’t done that in a while.”
“Today?” Pandy laughed. “But I just saw you last night.”
“Indeed you did. Sadly, I wasn’t there to witness what happened after I departed, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Someone and their party are all over Instalife today.”
“You don’t say.” Pandy suppressed a hiccup.
Photos, she suddenly recalled. That’s why everyone was exchanging clothes.
A terrible possibility began to dawn as Pandy felt around the bed for her glasses. If what she feared were true, she would need to be upright for what Henry would no doubt tell her next. She found her glasses, untangled one leg from the sheet, and swung her foot off the bed.
“The pictures,” she hissed. “How bad are they?”
“Depends on what one calls ‘bad.’”
Pandy lowered her other foot and stepped on Suzette’s bra. “Damn.” She took another step. Crunch. Another spot of cupcake frosting. Her goddamned friends! “There wasn’t—nobody was—”
“Sober?” Henry chuckled nastily. “No. They certainly were not.”
Pandy sighed. “Not sober. Naked. No one was naked, were they?” She took a step toward the window and saw a pair of black Spanx draped over a lamp. Why would anyone take those off? “Because there seems to be a lot of clothing left behind.” She continued to move around the bedroom, just like an object that “once in motion, stays in motion.” An aphorism learned from the arthritis ads on daytime television. She took a breath.
“And really, Henry. What’s up with Suzette and that huge yellow diamond? Who needs ten ca
rats? What’s wrong with three? Honestly, what can seven extra carats do that three can’t?”
Henry paused. Pandy gingerly lifted the edge of the Spanx between thumb and forefinger. “And don’t say ‘blow job,’” she added.
“I wasn’t going to say anything at all.”
“Good. I hope I’m not in these ridiculous pictures.” Picking up steam, she pulled on her plaid pajama pants. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had a sudden new thought:
“That’s why you called,” she said, recalling that comment about Botox. “I look old, don’t I?”
“I didn’t call to talk about your wrinkles.”
“Good. Whose wrinkles should we talk about instead?”
Flames of sunlight were licking the edges of the blackout shades. “Listen to me,” Pandy groaned. “I’m a lousy human being.”
“All human beings are lousy by definition,” Henry said patiently. Then he added, “Speaking of which, I wanted to talk to you about your new book.”
“My book?” Pandy had barely closed her mouth when Henry dropped the bomb.
“It’s all over Instalife.”
Pandy yanked open the shades. The sun shot into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. “Fuck.” She dropped the phone. A piece broke off, exposing the batteries. Pandy clamped her hand over the wiring and brought the phone back to her ear.
“It’s on Page Six. And People!” hollered Henry, who was given to random bursts of shouting.
