Page 51 of All Fall Down

“Aren’t I?” I tease. “Oh, you’re going to need one of these, too.”

“Like a costume?”

Before I can tell her anymore, a customer butts in. I’m relieved when he asks to see an autographed baseball card in the case instead of wanting to take a photo with me. The longer I stick around the shop, the more chance there is that I’ll be recognized.

“I’ll text you,” I promise, waving goodbye.

Pushing open the glass security door, I escape from that life and return to the one I’ve chosen. To outsiders my decision to host a masquerade ball in honor of my eighteenth birthday signals that I’ve just becoming another showy Houser. I think it’s one of my more brilliant ideas, though. What better safety net could you offer a murderer if you were hoping they’d come to call?

By the weekend, Monroe has acquired every bottle of good champagne in Las Vegas. I stare at the lines of bottles displayed on the bar. The previous shindig I’d crashed had utilized the West’s private stock of liquor.

“Why do we need this much champagne again?” I ask.

“For the theme,” she says as if this makes perfect sense. “I’m going for nouveau riche. Think The Great Gatsby meets trailer park.” She sweeps her hand in the air as if to share her vision.

“Have I told you you’re a bitch today?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Not today.” She bats her eyelashes like I’ve paid her a compliment. Knowing Monroe, I have.

“You’re a bitch.”

She ignores me and begins to point out various details I couldn’t care less about. I nod when appropriate, but she isn’t buying it. “This party was your idea.”

I shrug. I could care less if she’s taken it over. I had expected her to when I pitched the idea. I need Monroe to play hostess because she was the one who invited the guests earlier this summer. All of that is important to me. I just don’t give a damn about the drinks or the decorations.

“Your outfit is in Jameson’s room,” she says, clearly washing her hands of me. “Go get dressed.”

“I’m wearing this.” I gesture to the flowing, yellow maxi I put on this morning. It’s simple but comfortable, and tonight I’ll have enough attention directed at me no matter what I wear.

“Don’t argue with me,” she snaps. “If you’re going to be a West, you need to dress like one.”

“But won’t I look more nouveau riche in this?” I ask flatly.

“I’m making Jameson wear a tuxedo, you’ll be under-dressed,” she informs me. The change in tactics works. It’s hard enough to hold a candle next to him. If the right clothes can help ease the feeling of inferiority I’m apt to fall victim to I should take her up on the offer.

“How did your mom feel about the party?” I ask Monroe as she signs a delivery sheet.

“She’s not thrilled,” Monroe admits, “but she’ll get over it.”

“I want her to like me.” Immediately, I wish I hadn’t shared that snippet with Monroe. In her world, information is power.

“She does,” Monroe says to my surprise. “I told her the party was my idea.”

“Why would you do that?” I’ve watched how critical Evelyn West can be of her daughter’s choices this summer. Letting her mom believe it’s her idea to host a party in the same space where her dad was murdered didn’t seem like the best plan.

“Strategy. Mom wants us to get along, so I told her I was dying to throw you a birthday party.”

“In other words, you lied?” I ask.

“Yes. My mother is a sucker for lies if it paints the picture she wants to see. She’s too eager to watch us bond to cause trouble.”

“So she actually likes me?” Despite the kindness Jameson’s mother has shown me, I had to wonder if her opinion of me had reversed in light of our “engagement.”

“Yes, Pollyanna,” Monroe confirms dryly. “She thinks you hung the moon.”

Armed with this good news, I surrender to Monroe’s request and dismiss myself to dress, which has the added benefit of getting me away from the party planning. The outfit, or lack of it, that she’s picked out for me is laid out on Jameson’s bed.

Band-aids have more surface area than this thing, and don’t get me started on the lacy scraps of string that accompany it. The tiny dress is covered in gold sequins that sparkle luminously in the light. When I lift it from the bed, I discover a gorgeous mask hiding underneath. I had planned on wearing the one I picked up at Pawnography, but I can’t help but admire the one Monroe has selected. The mask itself is made of a creamy porcelain with subtle facial features painted on in gold. The gilt effect around the eyes looks like long feathers. I hold it up to my face and peer through the openings.