“What the fuck happened to her?” Chad asks me.
“That’s her work personality.”
“What’s her real name again?”
“Elizabeth Ronstadt. She went to Stivers.”
I see the look in Chad’s eye.
“She likes girls,” I say.
He says: “She seems to like you.”
\1692. What can I say about 1692. I’m sure nothing that would impress you. You’ve been to clubs, so you know that this is the type of place where a sixteen-year-old might lose her virginity and vomit off alcohol for the first time, both in the same night. You’ve been to clubs, so you know that there will be old men here looking at young boys and you’ve been to clubs, so you know that someone might dehydrate from ecstasy and die on that dancefloor that you were just dancing on. And you’ve been to clubs so you know that after he dies, and after he gets taken away on a stretcher, people are going to keep dancing.
You’ve been to clubs, and you know all these things, so I don’t have to tell you.
“Where is Jules?” That’s me.
And Ash says: “This is all we’re gonna hear for the night.” She does a formal bow to me, Penelope, and Chad, and she goes for the stairs.
Chad says: “I’m gonna dance with her.”
“Have fun.”
And he goes.
“Who’s Jules?” Penelope asks.
“She’s this girl,” I say. “Let’s check the roof.”