Family dollar backdating
I wanted to—oh, I just wanted to genuflect, you know? Like—somebody’s grand-mother or whoever, dies in some random brownstone in the East Village nobody’s even visited in twenty years and they dump all her shit out into the street and then at sunset—here I am walking across East Ninth Street and I find it.
But Louise’s hair is too flat, and too straight, and so instead Lavinia braids it into a tight, neat bun.
She takes their photo.“The last one’s good,” Lavinia says.
She looks like she’s not even real.“Let’s go with Mayfair. I’m going to be a nun.”Then: “I’m sorry.” “For what.”“I’m trolling you. Cordelia puts on a dressing gown covered in cat hair (there is no cat to be seen) and reads a paperback copy of John Henry Newman’s Apologia Pro Vita Sua. Lavinia comes home at dawn, covered in feathers.“I’m so terribly, terribly sorry,” she exclaims.
"Social Creature is a wicked original with echoes of the greats (Patricia Highsmith, Gillian Flynn)." —Janet Maslin, The New York Times For readers of Gillian Flynn and Donna Tartt, a dark, propulsive and addictive debut thriller, splashed with all the glitz and glitter of New York City. TARA ISABELLA BURTON is a writer of fiction and non-fiction. ”Lavinia gives Louise a beauty mark with her eyebrow pencil.“I stripped down to my underwear—no, that’s a lie; I took my bra off, too.
Me and Father Romylos and Gavin—Gavin’s a narcissistic sociopath. One of the nicest people in the world, but technically, a narcissistic sociopath. It makes you feel so alive——to be somewhere you’re not supposed to be.
Mother makes us.”“I abhor alcohol.” Cordelia winks at Louise as she picks stray feathers out of the couch cushions.
“I bet you don’t even believe in God, do you, Cordy?
Sometimes Louise considers going out with somebody new, but this seems like just another thing to potentially fuck up. And anyway she’s here for a whole week before she goes to Paris for Christmas and we’ve watched every single Ingmar Berg- man DVD in the house and now I’m all out of ideas to keep her off the streets. Lavinia lives in a floor-through brownstone apartment on Seventy- eighth Street between Park and Lex. Lavinia answers the door in a sleeveless black dress made entirely of feathers. It is wild, and coarse, and she has not brushed it in days, but it is the hue of blonde Louise has spent many hours experimenting with drugstore dyes to achieve, only it is natural.
There was one guy who seemed really feminist online but turned out to practice relationship anarchy; and another who was really into kink in ways that she was never entirely sure were not abusive; and one guy who was really great, actually, but he ghosted her after two months. You tell me.”“One fifty an hour,” says Louise.“Done.”“I’ll start tonight,” Louise says.