A Dangerous Age by Kelly Killoren

Author:Kelly Killoren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

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Il Buco

47 Bond Street, NoHo

Tuesday, August 12

Girls’ night

Billy asked me to meet her early, before the other two came, to talk about Lotta. We had been doing this lately, splitting off into twos and talking about the others. Last week, Sarah and I were on the phone for an hour about Billy and the growing gap between her money and her mounting bills. Lotta came by the day after that to talk about Sarah, and, of course, all three of us were talking about Lotta.

Who knows what they were saying about me.

“Gorgeous!” I said and whistled when I spotted her. She was wearing a purple and black Marc Jacobs maxidress with motorcycle boots and a fur scarf. In August. She looked like Lori Goldstein doing a Steven Meisel shoot for Vogue. She’s the only girl I know who could pull that off.

“The thing is,” Billy said. She started in right away once I sat down. “And I’m not trying to fuck things up for anyone, or add anxiety to anything that would otherwise be just fine, but there are indicators. You know what I mean? And indicators are something that shouldn’t be ignored. And the people closest to you are the ones most likely to ignore them. Which means, in terms of Lotta, us.”

Insalata di polpo arrived. Sweet tender boiled octopus with a tart lemony dressing—it’s my favorite dish here.

“You’re talking very philosophically about a very nonphilosophical subject,” I said. I thought, but didn’t say, that maybe she was worrying about the wrong person.

“I’m just saying, there are serious red flags.”

“Okay. So what are they? Is there really so much that’s different? Lotta likes to have fun. She always has. She’s always danced on the edge.”

“That’s fine, if there’s a net.”

“She’s never had a net.”

“Okay, but twenty-five or thirty with no net is a lot different than almost fifty without a net, and I’m not being sexist. It’s the same for men. Opportunities dry up. Your sense of balance isn’t as keen. It hurts more when you fall.”

Fuck. We were all screwed, then. Billy was screwed—what was she talking about? This is a girl who impulsively quit her job with no scrap of net at all. Sarah was screwed. I didn’t know how yet, but she was. Titus and I and our confusing state of a marriage, and what if he left? Who would I start over with? What would I do? I couldn’t imagine.

“Without a net you end up one of those women of ‘a certain age’ at the Baccarat Hotel with no underwear and a nose full of powder.”

“Great. I don’t have a net,” I said

“Well . . . I don’t know about that. But like I was saying, she’s having a lapse. She’s screwing that old man because she’s broke. She’s basically trading sex for money, or worse, but she won’t be able to do that in ten years.”

“She has the Dalí . . .” I said.

Billy rolled her eyes.

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