I'm So Happy for You by Lucinda Rosenfeld Read Free Book Online

“Maybe I’ll have one hit.”
    “Please,” said Boaz, crawling over to where she sat. He placed the pipe in her fingers, then held his lighter over the bowl
     as Wendy slowly breathed in.…
    The pot—or maybe it was hashish—burned her throat. It also made her feel less negative toward Boaz. Genesis’s
Three Sides Live
had replaced Pink Floyd. “Follow you, follow me,” sang Phil Collins. Behind her, Wendy could hear Daphne giggling, “Shuuut
     uuuppp!”
    “Come—we go to the balcony,” said Boaz, holding out his hand.
    Wendy took it, unable to think of a reason not to.
    A rope hammock had been strung up between two of the balcony’s sides. In the darkness it reminded Wendy of a giant spiderweb.
     Boaz climbed in and she followed, inching her buttocks across the net, then lifting her legs over the side as carefully as
     she could so she wouldn’t expose her underwear. In the process, their ankles brushed against each other, imbuing Wendy with
     sudden longing for a romantic attachment of her own. For a few minutes, the two of them lay motionless and silent, listening
     to the frenzy of the river below. Finally, Boaz spoke: “We are insignificant specks on the earth’s surface. You realize that,
     finally.”
    “On the other hand, trees and rocks don’t have brains,” offered Wendy, with the hope of saying something interesting and provocative
     that would set her apart in Boaz’s mind. “So maybe we are special.”
    “How do you know trees don’t have brains?” Boaz shot back.
    “I don’t know for sure!” Wendy laughed, taken aback by his accusatory tone.
    Boaz pulled a pack of Rothman cigarettes out of the pocket of his rumpled shirt and slowly lit one. Then he turned his gaze
     on her—in the darkness his eyes looked like pink marbles—and smiled smugly. “Why is it that you feel you must try to be agreeable?”
     he asked.
    Enraged by the suggestion, Wendy strained to think of a comeback that would shame and embarrass him. But the pot made her
     brain feel like sludge. All she could get out was: “That’s a very rude thing to say to someone you don’t know.”
    “I saw you inside.” Boaz gestured with his cigarette toward the glass doors. “You feel overshadowed by your friend. You should
     have more confidence. You’re attractive, too—in a more unconventional way.”
    Blood rushed to Wendy’s cheeks and temples. With one line, Boaz Rothschild Heidelberg had destroyed her entire fantasy of
     herself and Daphne as a meeting of equals, each with her own attributes, neither more powerful than the other. “Fuck you!”
     she cried, furiously extricating herself from the hammock. “You don’t know anything about me.”
    But he does,
Wendy was thinking as she yanked open the sliding doors and reentered the living room.
    She found Daphne seated on the low-slung sofa beside Eduard, who was running his hands through her mane and flicking his tongue
     at the underside of her neck while she moaned, “You know I can’t” in a supple voice that was clearly lacking in conviction.
     Neither one of them seemed to register Wendy’s entry. And Wendy suddenly didn’t have the nerve to disturb them, to remind
     Daphne that she’d promised they’d only stay an hour, to jolt Daphne out of her enchanted world.
    That was what it was like to be one of the beautiful people, Wendy thought as she skulked down the hall toward the front door,
     the Gipsy Kings’ “Bamboleo,” which had replaced Genesis on the stereo, growing fainter with every step. Your own life was
     so vivid that you barely noticed anyone else existed. It never even occurred to you to look, never mind to care what other
     people thought of you. That was the secret: the secret of obliviousness. You could act as hysterically as you wanted, but
     since it was always ultimately about your own reflection, no one ever really got under your skin.
    The next morning, Daphne accused Wendy of abandoning her, and Wendy didn’t argue