Page 103 of Book of Night
“You look good,” her mother said with a frown. “But I still think you should call out sick and go talk to the police.”
“I’ll think about it,” Charlie lied.
“Are you ready to go?” Posey asked. “And can I use some of that?”
Charlie ducked into the bathroom to fix her hair and turn the disturbing reindeer shirt inside out. When she returned, Posey was wearing eyeliner and some sparkly shadow.
They split the pack of underwear.
That night, being back at Rapture was strange. The mess had been cleaned up, the broken glass was gone. New bottles rested on the shelves. Although the bar wasn’t as well stocked as it had been—the unusual whiskeys and gins that Odette liked (rose and rhubarb were favorites) would take time to replace—it was functional.
Normally, Wednesdays were slow, but since the bar had been closed for the better part of a week, there was a lineup of performers. As Charlie came in, a body modification artist was up on the stage doing public piercings and tongue splittings.
By the time she was pouring her first drink, an acrobat with labrets through fresh holes in the dimples of her cheeks was performing a set that was half sleight of hand and half burlesque.
An hour in, Charlie was sweaty and footsore. She had to make a conscious effort not to touch her face and wipe away her careful makeup. Even with it, customers had to notice the swelling.
Balthazar gave her an odd, guilty look the one time she saw him out of his shadow parlor.
“Make me that awful thing I like,” Odette said, sitting herself down at the bar. She was in a red vintage Vivienne Westwood sweater set printed with black barbed wire.
Charlie turned away to spray a coupe glass with absinthe from a spritzer.
“How are you holding up?” Odette asked.
“I’m fine.” Charlie shook up Odette’s burnt martini and pushed it over to her, along with a twist of lemon peel for garnish. “Glad to be back.”
“You’re a darling for saying so, anyway,” Odette told her.
“I met a friend of yours,” Charlie said, keeping her voice low. “Is it true you have a client who’s an actual billionaire?”
Odette took a sip of her drink and grimaced a little at the bite of the alcohol. “Lionel? A client? Goodness no. He’d rather be on the other end of the whip.”
Charlie pretended to be surprised.
“Have you ever been to his house?”
“I certainly have. It’s a grim old place, plush carpets, lots of incense, and horrible art. But his liquor is top-notch and he knows a lot of interesting people.” She paused. “He called me the morning after that man came in. Asked mea great many questions about your Vincent. What do you think he wants with him?”
Charlie looked at Odette as steadily as she could. “No idea. Maybe he’s got an odd job he wants done.”
“Ah, yes,” Odette said. “It must be something like that.”
“You remember that thing you said about pasts being the only thing that matter?” Charlie said. “What did you mean?”
“Did I say that?” Odette looked surprised. “Well, if I did, I suppose I must have meant it exactly as it sounds.”
“Isn’t who we are today what counts?” Charlie didn’t know why she was pressing this point, since she wasn’t particularly happy with the person she was today. And Odette had been talking about Vince when she’d said it, not Charlie.
Odette laughed. “Sure, honey.”
“Isn’t that the point of reinventing ourselves?” Charlie asked.
Odette took a second sip of her drink and closed her eyes in pleasure. “Ah, yes, that’s good.” Then she fixed Charlie with a look that made her remember that Odette had lived longer than she had and maybe lived harder too. “Who we were and what we did and what was done to us—we don’t get to shrug that stuff off and become some new shiny person.”
Charlie raised her eyebrows. “We cantry.”
“Take fetish. No one is into sucking on someone else’s feet or worshipping their shoes or rubbing a balloon all over themselves for no reason. I know a boy who used to sit under the kitchen table and draw while his mother and her friends talked. He would look at their shoes, and know that if he touched one, he would be discovered and then he’d have to leave. You can guess what he likes. But if he didn’t admit it to himself, what then? It takes bravery to be an adventurer,” Odette said, lifting her drink and walking away. “And what better adventure than the discovery of our true selves?”
