“I don’t think they need more alcohol,” Alice whispered through her smile.
“Don’t be a wet blanket,” Daisy whispered back, then asked what the men would like in a loud, bright voice.
Alice took a deep breath. Shewasbeing a wet blanket, and it was out of character. Normally Alice would’ve asked for a bump of whatever they were doing, would’ve been nonjudgmental, happy they were having fun.
One of the middle-aged guys—Reese—slid a hand over her hip, coming daringly close to the bottom seam of her hot pants. “We’re mostly interested in what’s off-menu,” he said, and he and the other middle-aged guy laughed. It was the kind of self-aware laughter that said they knew Reese’s joke was stupid, but it didn’t matter, because Alice was just a waitress and therefore not worth the effort. A sure thing.
Alice stopped herself from recoiling.It’s not that serious, she admonished herself.They’re joking. This is a party.In the greatest of ironies, she was reacting like her father would, all stiff upper lip. And acting like their dad was Grey’s territory. Alice’s younger sister was the spitting image of their father personality-wise, grave and pensive even in high school, always coming to her with earnest questions.
Inwardly, Alice smiled at the thought of Grey. When it came to her little sister, it didn’t matter that they were opposites, that Alice probably took after their wildcard mom, who’d abandoned them after Grey was born. Alice loved Grey more than anything. One day she would finish growing up and Alice would have a forever best friend.
“I’m going to get these gentlemen their bottles,” Daisy said loudly, performatively. “Why don’t you keep them company?”
Alice met the handsome man’s eyes for a charged moment, then looked away. He’d said his name was Gabriel. Well, there was something about Gabriel that unsettled her. “Sure,” Alice said, spilling like liquid into the empty seat beside Easton. She reminded herself:Two thousand dollars.
“No offense.” Reese leaned over the table once Daisy left. “But before you get any ideas”—he jerked a thumb at Easton—“you’re not his type. A little old.”
“Fuck off.” Easton shoved Reese with a flat palm to his chest. They were frat boys. Worse, actually—Carlie’s table of literal frat boy bachelors was more polite. Not for the first time since starting at the Serpent Room, Alice wondered if being privileged meant never having to learn to behave.
Gabriel’s eyes skimmed her, head to foot. “How oldareyou?”
She sat straighter; crossed her legs. “Twenty-one.”
“In college?”
“Not anymore. I dropped out this semester, actually. It’s a funny—”
“Told you,” crowed Reese. “They’re never in college.”
Alice didn’t know why, exactly, but that rubbed her the wrong way.
Easton gave her an appraising look. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a dead ringer for Sharon Tate?”
“I have no idea who that is,” she admitted, then braced herself. Rich older men hated to be reminded of their age.
But Easton only laughed. “Amazing.” He shook his head. “How fast history just… disappears.”
Gabriel edged in closer, like he wanted to wrest back Alice’s attention. “You said you have your own apartment?”
Alice stared at him. That was when she realized what was wrong: It was his eyes. They were empty of anything she could use to get a read on him. Human eyes were supposed to be windows into the soul, but his were inscrutable, and it left her chilled.
“No, I’ve been couch surfing,” she said, before realizing she’d never mentioned anything about where she lived. She tried to laugh. “I bet you’ve never couch surfed a day in your life.” One thing rich older mendidlike was remembering they had more money than you.
Before Gabriel could answer, Daisy sailed back to the table with a platter of dusty green bottles—the old, expensive brands of absinthe. “All right, boys. Green fairy’s here.”
Relief washed through Alice at Daisy’s reappearance. It soothed the primal part of her that had been taking stock, counting three against one.
Tati’s words must’ve really gotten in her head.
“Le fée vert,” Alice said, springing to her feet, forcing a smile. “That’s what one of my regulars calls me.” It was the French financier’s pet name for her: the green fairy.
“To our fairies, then,” Reese laughed, raising a glass. The absinthe glimmered like a jewel in glass against the strobe lights. “And to our Wild Hunt. Into the underworld we go.”
All five of them raised their glasses—though Alice, the college dropout, was too embarrassed to admit she didn’t know what they were toasting.
Hours later, Alicestumbled past the velvet ropes, headed for the bathroom. She’d far surpassed the number of drinks she usually allowed herself on company time, but no one had stopped by their table to reprimand her, not even John. As she slid into a bathroom stall, taking an embarrassingly long time to secure the lock, she wondered if that was what it was like being rich, if people left you the fuck alone. No restraints, no admonishments, only freedom. And here Alice was, her life one long trek across eggshells, having to apologize for everything, for simply wanting out of her cage.
When she finally came back, Daisy yanked her aside. “They’re leaving,” she whispered. “And they want us to go with them.”
