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"Social Creature is a wicked original with echoes of the greats (Patricia Highsmith, Gillian Flynn)." —Janet Maslin, The New York Times For readers of Gillian Flynn and Donna Tartt, a dark, propulsive and addictive debut thriller, splashed with all the glitz and glitter of New York City. TARA ISABELLA BURTON is a writer of fiction and non-fiction. ”Lavinia gives Louise a beauty mark with her eyebrow pencil.“I stripped down to my underwear—no, that’s a lie; I took my bra off, too.

They go through both bottles of champagne right there on the High Line, with nothing but the stars over them... Winner of the Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize for Travel Writing, she completed her doctorate in 19th century French literature and theology at the University of Oxford and is a prodigious travel writer, short story writer and essayist for National Geographic, The Wall Street Journal, The Economist's 1843 and more. I took off everything and I put on the dress and I left my other one in the street and I walked all night, wearing it, all the way back to the Upper East Side.”Lavinia does Louise’s buttons. “Stick with me long enough,” she says,“and I promise—things will just happen to you. She makes it a mirror.“Let’s stand against the peacock feathers,” Lavinia says.

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Sometimes, if Louise has been paid cash that week, she goes to a really nice bar: on Clinton or Rivington, or on the Upper East Side. flyers at The Corner Bookstore on Ninety-third and Madison, which has a free Christmas champagne reception Louise has been crashing for three years, even though she lives so far away, just to drink for free and watch rich, happy families be happy and rich.“I’m afraid I don’t know a damn thing,” Lavinia says over the phone. And I know I’ll corrupt her—unless somebody else is there to stop me. When Louise arrives on the stoop, there is opera blaring from an open window, and Lavinia is singing along, off-key, and this is how Louise figures out that Lavinia lives on the second floor without even having to check the buzzer. She is not tall but she is thin (Louise tries to calculate exactly how thin, but the feathers get in the way), and she fixes her eyes on Louise with such intensity that Louise instinctively takes a step back: half--knocking into a vase filled with dead lilies. There is a gold- embroidered caftan hanging on a wall, and a powdered wig on the head of a mannequin whose features are drawn in lipstick, and there are several illustrated tarot cards—the High Priestess, the Tower, the Fool -- in rusty art nouveau frames on all the surfaces in the room. I’ve had the most wonderful, wonderful night in the world.

”She has seen the hem Louise has fixed for her.“Are you a costumier? She makes eighteenth-century outfits every year for Carnevale in Venice.”“I’m not a costumier.” “But you can sew.”Louise shrugs.

” Louise is caught off guard by the question.“Not a lot.”“Don’t lie to me.”“What?

They do math: all the 3-4-5 triangles, sur- face areas of different shapes. Don’t feel bad—I mean, you’re doing a very good job. Only—she won’t be back by ten.” “That’s okay,” Louise says.

You’re beautiful.” Lavinia has captioned the photo: alike in indignity. They do SAT words: What is the difference between lackluster, laconic, and lachrymose? “Maybe Vinny really does want you to be my babysitter. “Christ.”Feathers slice the air as they fall.“All my pretty chickens,” Lavinia cries.

Sometimes Louise considers going out with somebody new, but this seems like just another thing to potentially fuck up. And anyway she’s here for a whole week before she goes to Paris for Christmas and we’ve watched every single Ingmar Berg- man DVD in the house and now I’m all out of ideas to keep her off the streets. Lavinia lives in a floor-through brownstone apartment on Seventy- eighth Street between Park and Lex. Lavinia answers the door in a sleeveless black dress made entirely of feathers. It is wild, and coarse, and she has not brushed it in days, but it is the hue of blonde Louise has spent many hours experimenting with drugstore dyes to achieve, only it is natural.

There was one guy who seemed really feminist online but turned out to practice relationship anarchy; and another who was really into kink in ways that she was never entirely sure were not abusive; and one guy who was really great, actually, but he ghosted her after two months. You tell me.”“One fifty an hour,” says Louise.“Done.”“I’ll start tonight,” Louise says.

“Vinny doesn’t have any normal tea.”She serves it in an intricately patterned teapot (“It’s from Uzbeki- stan,” Cordelia says. If she keeps the spoon dry the sugar will settle in the cup. She briefly considers asking for another spoon, but the thought of doing this makes her nervous, and so Louise doesn’t say anything at all. What, all my pretty chickens and their dam.”“I’ll get some water,” Cordelia says.“It’s a bad omen.” Lavinia has fallen over, now, laughing, with a black feather in her hand. ”Louise grabs the trailing feathers from underneath the door. “This dress—it has been felled in battle.” Her hair fans out on the floor all the way to the steamer trunk she has made into a coffee table.

She makes Louise a pot of tea.“You can have chocolate-vanilla or you can have hazelnut- cinnamon-pear-cardamom,” she says. Cordelia forgets a teaspoon, although there is one in the sugar pot, but after the second cup Louise realizes if she stirs the tea it will wet the spoon and then ruin the sugar. ”Lavinia grabs Louise’s wrists; she pulls her in.“It died a noble death.” She hiccups.

Anyway, we decided to see if you can break into the Botanic Garden. We got caught, once, had to pay an awful fine at the Central Park Zoo, but other than that!

Me and Father Romylos and Gavin—Gavin’s a narcissistic sociopath. One of the nicest people in the world, but technically, a narcissistic sociopath. It makes you feel so alive——to be somewhere you’re not supposed to be.