Chapter 4: Soft Launch, Hard Fall
Daphne
Someone’s knocking on her front door.
She squints toward the noise, barely remembering falling asleep, just the blur before it: tequila, a line she didn’t finish, a Xanax she chased before everything went dark.
The knocks come again, louder this time. Daphne pulls the blanket over her shoulders, stumbles to the door, and yanks it open.
Kathleen Marks stands at the threshold, immaculate in Chanel and Hermès, appraising her daughter through tortoiseshell shades.
“Good morning, Daphne,” her mother says.
“Well, shit,” Daphne replies, leaning against the doorframe. “Is it a good morning? I’m not so sure.”
Kathleen’s gaze skims past her into the apartment. She doesn’t react. Not to the mess, not to the stale liquor in the air, not even to the bong. Just that faint purse of the lips, barely there. The same look she gave the Christmas tree when it caught fire the year Daphne was ten.
“I’ll only say this once,” she says, moving in closer, just enough to cut off any exit. “There are stories. Again.”
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“Oh, mother. You came all the way to West Hollywood to scold me about rumors? That’s almost sweet.”
“I came to look you in the eye and make sure you understand I mean every word.” Kathleen pauses, a flicker of revulsion passing through her. “But I don’t want the details. I want it to stop. Whatever it is. The married men. The clubs. Being banned from places that carry my friends’ names.”
“Come on. Getting banned from The Halloway? That kind of ban takes talent.”
“You’re an embarrassment to yourself and all of us.” Kathleen lowers her voice with the resigned authority of someone who knows exactly where this is going—and how fast she can end it. “Keep it up, and I’ll cut you off. Entirely.”
“Please, mother,” Daphne shoots back. “Are we really doing this first thing in the morning? I haven’t even had my first Adderall.”
“I’m not bluffing,” Kathleen says, stepping forward. “Now, your father’s seventy-fifth birthday is next week. I shouldn’t need to remind you, but sadly I do. You will attend. You will behave. You will not humiliate us.”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Daphne replies with the slightest trace of a smirk. “Behave how? No drugs until after sunset? No fucking the cater waiters until they’re off the clock? Oh, and if Arlene Sassoon shows up, should I let her know exactly who leaked those headlines?”
“I’m warning you.”
“Warning received.” Daphne waves her off. The smirk vanishes. “Always a pleasure, Mom.”
“This building’s starting to show its age,” Kathleen adds, eyes sweeping the courtyard. “It looks like it’s falling apart.”
Then she turns and walks away. Daphne watches her go. Slams the door. “That bitch,” she mutters, crossing to the freezer, where she pulls out the bottle of Kettle One.
“Cheers, Mom,” she says, then unscrews the cap and drinks.