Part 160 (2/2)

A drunk. A cheap, bitter drunk.

How could she escape a fate that rushed at her from all sides? Her

mother, her grandfather. Her father. No matter how she blinded herself

to it, she had to accept that the man she loved most was as much a slave

to drink as the woman she wanted to hate.

It terrified her.

She didn't want to believe it. She was afraid not to.

No good. It did no good to dwell on it, she told herself and hung the

rinsed print to dry. Emma studied it, critically, before moving back to

her enlarger.

Since she was sick of worrying about herself, she decided to worry about

Marianne. Emma knew her friend had taken to cutting cla.s.ses, meeting

Robert Blackpool for lunch or drinks in whatever spot was currently

trendy. From there they would often crawl the clubsElaine's, Studio 54,

Danceteria-where Blackpool could be seen.

There were nights Marianne came in at dawn, shadow-eyed and bubbling

with stories. Worse were the nights Blackpool stayed in the apartment,

in Marianne's studio. In Marianne's bed.

With all her heart she wanted to wish for Marianne's happiness. Marianne

was happy. She was wildly in love for the first time with a man who by

all appearances adored her. She was living the exciting, glittery, and

decadent life they had both pined for while trapped within Saint

Catherine's prim walls.

It annoyed Emma to find herself jealous and critical. She resented not

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