Page 46 of Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man)

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Millie says, blushing.

“Yes, she has to,” Vera calls out. “You have to fit in, Millie.”

“Fit in to what?”

“Ah,” Vera says slyly.

“No, really, that wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Millie says. “I actually would like an answer.”

“A party,” Vera says. She pours out the tea with intense focus and totters out from behind the counter.

Millie wants to ask,What party?but she’s sitting down in frontof Aimes now, and Aimes is studying her face closely, and Millie doesn’t want to say a word in case her breath smells bad. Aimes takes out a huge makeup bag, and when she opens it, Millie openly gapes. Aimes has an amazing range of makeup.

“These are mostly gifts from brands that want me to post about them,” Aimes says. She picks out a bottle of foundation and holds it up against Millie’s face, then rejects it for a different bottle. She pours out a dollop onto the back of her hand and uses a brush to swipe it all over Millie’s face. “I know this is a little thicker than you’re used to, but it’s going to give your skin that porcelain effect everybody’s into right now.”

“Wah, Aimes, you are very good at this,” Vera says, placing a tray on the table. She beams at Millie. “Aimes do my makeup too. I look fabulous, yes?”

Millie looks at Vera without moving her face and realizes that, yes, actually, Vera does look fabulous. Thanks to Aimes, Vera’s skin is glowing and her lips have been painted a bright fuchsia, which should look garish but ends up making Vera look bold and devastatingly fashionable. “Yeah, you look amazing.”

Twenty minutes later, Aimes sits back and surveys Millie. Vera peers at Millie’s face. “This is not making me feel at all self-conscious,” Millie says with a nervous laugh.

“What do you think, Vera?” Aimes says.

Vera nods. “Very good work, Aimes. She look not at all like herself. So glamorous.”

“Gee, thanks,” Millie says, but then Aimes holds up a mirror, and all of Millie’s sarcastic remarks fly out of her head. The person in the mirror can’t possibly be her, can it? She no longer looks young or vulnerable; she looks like the kind of woman who turns heads and breaks hearts with no remorse.

“Do you like it?” Aimes says.

Millie can only nod, not trusting herself to speak.

“Okay, enough staring,” Vera says. “Now you get dress and we have to go.”

Millie stands, still in a bit of a daze, and accepts the shimmery dress that Aimes hands her. Vera ushers Millie upstairs, and when Millie is done changing, she stares at the mirror in Vera’s bedroom.This is what a woman looks like, she thinks. Not a girl. She is in her twenties, after all, and very much no longer a girl, but she hasn’t felt like a woman in…ever, actually. Millie swallows, shuddering a little. Father and Mother would definitely not approve of this. She takes her phone out of her purse. No messages from them. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.

“Millie, ah, Uber is here!” Vera calls from downstairs.

Millie switches the phone to Silent mode and walks out of the room. Apparently she is off to a party.

Millie has been to several parties here in America. The guys she had gone out with had taken her to house parties, mostly housewarming or anniversary or birthday parties—celebrations that are confined to close friends and their plus-ones, where she spent the night trying to make small talk with the other plus-ones.

This party is nothing like those. First of all, it’s in a mansion at Bernal Heights. Millie can’t believe how lavish the house is when they first arrive, a five-story monstrosity that makes the Painted Ladies look like baby houses. She looks at Vera. The old woman must’ve made a mistake coming here. But Vera only pauses for a moment before saying, “I hope they have dumpling.” Then she tightens her hold on her stack of metal food containers, squares her shoulders, and says, “Okay, come with me, ladies. And hold your containers properly. If you drop them, you will be in big trouble.”

“I don’t know about this,” Aimes says. “I’ve never turned up at a party with so much food. Not even a Thanksgiving party.”

“Aiya, why you got no manners?” Vera tuts. “Of course you turn up to party, you have to bring enough food to feed everyone, otherwise people go home hungry, then how?”

Millie purses her lips. She’s got a feeling that Aimes is right about this being weird, but at the same time, nothing could make Millie go against Vera. And so Millie tightens her hold on the intense weight of the Tiffin tower and takes a deep breath before following Vera and Aimes up the steps and into what will no doubt be the wildest night of their lives.

Sixteen

VERA

If Vera were to be completely honest, she might say she is ever so slightly intimidated. Some might even say she is downright scared. But that would be ludicrous, because Vera does not do fear. Fear is for toddlers and tiny dogs, not for wise older ladies like herself. But then again, Vera would be hard pressed to explain the dryness of her mouth and the pitter-patter of her heart and the way her forehead has gone quite moist.Hot flashes, she thinks. Postmenopausal hot flashes. Yes, that would be it.

Also, for some reason, her legs are being rather difficult, refusing to climb the steps to the front door until Vera consciously wills them to. And then, when she’s at the door, her arm refuses to move until she mentally directs all of her willpower into lifting her hand toward the doorbell. Her heart lurches as she pushes on the doorbell and hears it ring somewhere inside the house, above the loud music. She licks her lips. Goodness, but they really are dry for some reason. She must be dehydrated.

The door swings open just as Vera is considering runningaway—not out of fear, mind you, but for health reasons, as doctors are always yammering away about how good jogging is for you—and the person who opens it is a young man who looks like he could be a freshman at college. “Yeah?” he says. He spots the Tiffin tower, over the top of which Vera is peeking. “Did we order Chinese takeout?”

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