HEADDRESS There was no getting around it: I was going to Libby’s party, to meet up with Morgan, without Naomi or James, wearing a giant feather headdress. I dragged my feet all day, hoping James might magically call and offer an alternate plan. But he didn’t have my number and I didn’t have his. The evening heat made me itchy and too annoyed to eat. I fell asleep at six, only to wake and find myself in an empty house at eight. My mother had been so pleased to hear I was planning on leaving my bedroom for something other than work that she left her car keys under a note on my bathroom counter: Quinlan, here are the keys. If you are in no shape to drive home, do not do so. Please sleep at Libby’s, I’ll know you were incapacitated. At the Getty Gala thing until past midnight. Have fun. Be safe. Don’t forget to double click when you lock the Lexus. Love, Mom Incapacitated. Right. And sleeping at Libby’s would mean I’d have to actually be there longer than an hour, which, given my cranky post-nap state of mind, seemed unlikely.
