He opens the front door for me. I squeeze past and find the room lit with candles. Grace is standing at the bookshelf, wearing a long white dress and gloves, as if she’s about to go out drinking in postwar Paris. She says something under her breath to Jesse, then smiles at me.
“Look who made it.” She takes a sip of her cocktail. “Our beautiful helpmeet. It’s like we’ve hired an escort for the night.”
“Don’t be rude,” Bradley snaps. He goes to a drinks trolley in the middle of the room and picks up a glass.
“Apologies. It’s a compliment. It means she’s hot.”
“No, you’re being cruel.” He hands me the glass. “Have this. It might help you feel more at home.”
“What is it?”
“Vodka and tonic.”
I feel Grace watching me, loading more insults into her chamber. But instead, she turns her attention to Bradley.
“Let’s all have a drink,” she says. “A toast to Bradley.”
“A toast?” I ask. “Why?”
“I got the response from the tenure committee today.”
“That’s amazing! Congratulations!”
“Not so fast,” Grace says. “It wasn’t good news.”
“Indeed.” Bradley sinks his drink in one. “They said no.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say rapidly, feeling my face go hot. “They’re idiots. Assholes.”
“Don’t be. It’s just twenty years of my life down the drain. No big deal.”
“No big deal,” Grace says. “Just our financial future.”
“If you want financial security, darling, you know what to do,” Bradley snaps. “You have a trust fund just sitting there waiting for you.”
“Yes, let’s accept profits won from the destruction of our planet, just so my husband doesn’t need to work a normal job. What a great outcome. How fun it would be to look at ourselves in the mirror every morning.”
“I believe I’d get over it.”
“Yes,” Grace says. She steps towards the drinks trolley and stumbles a little. I wonder if she’s drunk. She’s so thin that it would only take a few drinks to knock her out. She picks up the bottle of vodka and half-fills her cocktail glass. “I have gathered that about you.”
“Bradley, my friend!” Jesse calls out from across the room. “I hear you got a Keats first edition. Can I see it?”
“It’s in the safe.”
“How on earth did you get it?”
“A consolation gift from a mentor in the department,” he says, glaring at Grace. He’s clenching his fists, and I can tell he’s doing everything in his power not to lose his cool. “Let me show you.”
I feel my chest go tight as he leaves the room. I scan my mind for conversation topics. Though I hate myself for it, I’m desperate to prove to Grace that I’m just as interesting as her, just as witty, just as elegant, even though none of that is remotely true.
She walks across the room to the Greek vase in the corner.
“Have you seen this?”
“Not really,” I say, thankful that she’s taking the lead.
“It’s an amazing scene. This figure here is Calliope, one of the Muses. The man next to her is trying to fish a severed head from the waters.”
