Page 91 of White Lights
“You pulled one out!” Yael says.
Is she talking about Dez’s film, or the orgasm she just stole like a bad penny from Rafe’s pants? Dez feels so tired. The Soma’s inching its way through her system. “How’d you know?”
“Everyone knows,” Simon says, busting out his violin now to play “Livin’ Thing” by ELO. “Because they just announced the honorees of the midterm gala! They’re celebrating all the first-years who’ve completed their assignment.”
“I heard about that,” Dez says.
“And tomorrow,” Simon says, “we get to make arrangements to go home over break.”
Dez entertains this thought for a moment—not the reality of her home, but another version of it where Mo never got burned and Dez isn’t suspected of armed robbery and worse. A version where she getsthree days in Death Valley, and her mom takes off work, and Silas swings by unannounced like he used to, and they all go out to dinner. Where she and Mo stay up all night watchingStep Brothersand talking. Where she shows himLazarusin person, rather than having to have it delivered by Rafe.
Dez wonders if he’s actually keeping his end of the bargain. She doesn’t know whether to feel grateful or envious that Rafe might be with Mo right now.
“That’s great,” she breathes to Simon. “I can’t wait.”
“Party starts at eight, Dez,” Yael says, running her eyes over Dez’s haggard all-nighter aesthetic. She can tell Yael doesn’t think there are enough hours in the day for Dez to make herself presentable.
“What kind of party is it?” Dez asks. She’s not entirely up for another round of debauchery at Villains, not after the vanished night she spent in the Vault. Not after the spell Rafe’s making her come put her under. She’d just love to crawl into bed and fall asleep for a very long time.
“Part celebration, part initiation,” Yael says. “There’s a showcase of your work; then Moriah says a few words.”
“I was up all night,” Dez protests. “I drank a Soma—”
“Don’t even think about bailing,” Yael says, then brightens. “Okay! I’ve gotta go help set up. Your dress is in your room. Black tie!”
“Is that a joke?” Dez says.
“Jet sent me a tux,” Simon confirms.
“See you losers tonight,” Yael calls over her shoulder as she floats down the stairs. “Don’t be late!”
At eight o’clock, Dez and Simon enter the Vault. He’s all cleaned up in his tailored tux. The dress that Rafe picked out for her is gorgeous, sexy—a slinky, backless black silk slip dress with lace details at the neckline and a flutter hem. It fits her like his hands do: perfectly.
The Vault is transformed, the open atrium in its center adorned with twinkle lights and towering gold vases exploding with white orchids. “Fly Me to the Moon” plays from a DJ booth on the far side of the Vault.
“Is it just me, or does this feel like a trap?” Dez shouts to Simon as a server approaches them with a tray of fizzing champagne flutes.
“Feels like we fell into an oligarch’s wedding,” Simon says as they clink glasses. “But at least there’s booze.”
Dez reaches forward, where another server passes by with hors d’oeuvres. “And caviar,” she adds with her mouth full.
“So, how’d your final cut turn out?” Simon asks, chewing his second blini.
Dez can’t help it, she grins. She’s thinking of Mo’s film, not the one she was assigned. She’s proud of it.
“That good?”
“Simon, how many scripts did you end up writing so far this term?”
He tosses his head. “Something like a hundred and fifty.”
Dez almost spits out her champagne. “But the last time we talked, you said it’d be more like ten or twenty.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I got in a flow. Things moved fast.”
“How exactly did you get in that kind of flow?”
“All month I’ve just been sitting in my darkened Lens, listening to recordings from my subjects’ lives.”
