Two girls were climbing a narrow staircase, heading towards the sound of laughter and music. Florence Darrow was leading, dragging her hand along the blood-colored wall. "There's something perverse about organizing publishing parties here," she said. Both women worked as assistant editors at the Forrester publishing house, and tonight was the office's holiday party, held every year on the second floor of a dark bar called "The Library," where the theme of the decor was literary kitsch. "It's like organizing a United Nations party at Disneyland." "Exactly," Lucy Gant agreed quietly. Her dress, with the climbing design, had ridden up her tights and was now gathered around her thighs. They reached the top of the stairs and entered to inspect the whole scene. The party had started just half an hour ago, but already an annoying buzz was rising from the crowd, hanging over them like smog.
Close to a hundred people – some of their colleagues, and many strangers – were gathered in crowded little groups. Florence didn't want to arrive too early, but she regretted not having arrived on time to secure a corner for the two of them. The girls scanned the room, looking for familiar and friendly faces. They didn't find a single one. "Shall we have a drink first?" Florence suggested. Lucy nodded affirmatively. The two had started working at Forrester around the same time, almost two years ago, and Lucy had immediately given Florence her unwavering loyalty. In theory, Lucy was exactly the kind of friend Florence hoped to make in New York.