Re: The lake: close to the water
She had lost her footing. Not the practical kind, the shoes had only been flat to begin with. The dress was fighting her, because it wasn't made for calisthenics inspired by the desire to hurl but the kind of party this place was pretending to hold. It was tailored, austere lines and it was low cut because you could see the milk-white rods of her collarbones but nothing else. It was a dress that called for high heels to make it pure sex instead of a hint, but she hadn't lost that footing. It was a different kind, the kind that stood the hairs on her arms to gooseberry fuzz and she wasn't blaming him for the lightning rod of her spine. That was all will. Fucking will.
The champagne bubbles had blown, like broken light bulbs. She caught a whiff of the cigarette smoke on the cool-blown lake wind and her nostrils flared and her stomach rolled over predictably and tried another Houdini impersonation. Cool it, and her hand shook where she held it out until she deliberately put resistance into her arm to get it steady. Steel-like, except some kind of alloy that looked like it would fall over in strong breeze.
He managed the cigarette lighting admirably. Practiced really. It looked like a routine, like maybe he lit cigarettes for all the women who stood on the side of the lake and contemplated adding to the sewage. She took it quickly, her fingers cold as they glanced his own and she put it to her lips and dragged hard. Acrid smoke joined the metallic patina on her tongue and she ran the palm of her hand along the back of her neck along her hairline, where the cold sweat had beaded.
"Thanks." She said it around the cigarette. It wasn't practiced, the cigarette stuck wetly to her lip and she took a moment, then another and then will fucked off if he'd ever turned up. "Excuse me."
She was neatly and as quietly sick as she could be into the water to the left of her. "Shit." She sounded more disgusted with herself than with the moment.