Chloe comes home after her day at the ad agency carrying three Chanel shopping bags and a new Missoni scarf around that slender swan's neck of hers. It's an expensive form of consolation but we never talk about money. She doesn't work because she has to, she just wants to prove that she can.
She doesn't say it but I can tell from her impulse buying that her father (his name is Jack) hasn't called yet. "What do you want to do this weekend" I ask. "Drugs" she says. "Opium cigarettes don't count."
I'm writing a letter to Henry but I know I'm never going to post it. When the ink dries I will put it in an egg white envelope with his address and a stamp and hide it in my night stand drawer. When we have sex in my bed I will know that whatever I want to tell him is only a few inches away, so close to being revealed and the tension in my body feels like electricity.