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One night, one party, bleeding into the next. Nothing specific or momentous enough to press itself into your memory. The guests, the conversations, the taste of the fucking wine on your lips, all more or less the same.
Normally, this would have annoyed me: that he always sought her out before he ever even looked for me.
He's cheating on her??
That she was, in my opinion, the only one he genuinely respected, far more than for being one of the best art dealers in the world. For more than even making his career. Really, I think, just for being her.
Jack looked me up and down, a closed smile curling up, tight against his teeth. He hated this dress. He thought it looked cheap. Like New Year’s Eve in Times Square. Hated the racket it made. The way the paillettes shed like snake scales if I moved too quickly. Hated that I moved too quickly.
Damn, it sounds like he hates her
Human will is a particularly powerful magic. Alchemy happens when a person truly decides something; when a mind is changed.
Later, when I saw him across the room, practically entangled con esa cabrona gigante—Inga or Ingrid or whatever her name was
Hes def cheating on her and it both seems like they hate each other :(
Anita de Monte, art star on the rise. Anita de Monte, winner of the Rome Prize, winner of the Guggenheim. Anita de Monte, a once-in-a-generation artistic voice. Anita de Monte, a one-trick pony. Anita de Monte, immigrant opportunist. Anita de Monte, wife of the legendary Jack Martin. Anita de Monte, lucky bitch. Anita de Monte, the most miserable bitch alive. No one realizing that I was all these things at once and more.
Later, when word got out that I had fallen (jumped? or, could it be, pushed?) out the window, this was what everyone would talk about. How they had just seen her! Anita de Monte. That very night! How she had been laughing. And how she had been dancing. And how, when she spun around and around, the silver sequins of her dress went flying. Up and into the air. Like the feathers of a molting bird.
WTF the husband def did it
“Marriage isn’t a trap, but marrying unstrategically might be,”
Endings, and even beginnings, are tricky things to pinpoint, aren’t they? The conventional mind likes to make them nice and neat, a light switch that goes off and on.
Endings are the same. Possibly even more nebulous, messy things.
“Thank you. I sold my soul to Jack in exchange for them.”
Why did she date him if she hates him
was packing; it was the night before I was meant to leave for the residency and suddenly, there he was: in the doorway with champagne and earrings.
It’s like her trapped her with a baby
I think he was scared to let her go because she would be a more successful artist than him
Then he went on to explain how only his art form—minimalism—would save us from racism and sexism and homophobia.
What the fuck is wrong with this dude! :(
He blamed her for the other women. It was immature of him to do, of course, but he’d always been very up front about what he needed: companionship, emotional support.
He should have been the one to be thrown out a window!!!!!!!!
“Raquel’s been bitten by a white boy.”
The notion that less of her was worth more in the world had wormed its way into her brain and taken insidious hold over her perception of self. Despite knowing the starvation hallowed her, in the beginning, each pound gained back created in her a sense of fear. Fear of her own body, really. Despite knowing that food could soothe and nourish her, it became, for Raquel, something torturous; full of shame and complications.
