I watched you twirl at the party – like the dance scene in The Age of Innocence, shot under Scorsese’s direction from above. Ms. Olenska, how you were in your element! Graceful movements and gestures as you snaked your way through the crowd to compliment the girl still madly in love with him; to huddle with the gay boy who was all too happy to share the intelligence gathered about him; to whisper with the former trollop to who shared details of sexual escapades with him; to galvanize the energy between you through awkward hello and sideways glance with him. All stepped to with grand finesse so no one realized they were being manipulated, including him. I left that soiree to sit alone by the Christmas tree in the house I will never return to; the house you will no doubt share with him. Later when you arrived, and like everything else, you took that from me as well.
George is writing to relieve the pressure in her head, because the Advil isn’t working, and a gun is out of the question. She is the author of 1112.