Free Everlasting by Nancy Thayer

spoke, Catherine pulled herself up into a sitting position, propped herself against some pillows, and let Leslie busy around with the tray. Her head was still filled with fuzz, her body with a voluptuous heaviness.
    “I have to have a bath,” she said after sipping some of the rich café au lait from a cup the size of a soup bowl.
    “Good luck. Everyone’s using the bathtubs. I doubt if there’ll be enough hot water, but never mind, the cold will wake you up. Eat something first and drink your coffee—Oh! You have to tell me which dress you want to wear tonight. The maids are coming around to collect things that need ironing. Which one—this? Well, la-de-da, Miss Catherine, how swanky. Where did you get it? I thought you were pinching pennies.”
    Catherine grinned and stretched. “I stole it. From my mother’s closet. She’ll never know.”
    “You stole it! Good Lord, I didn’t know you had it in you! I’m so proud of you, my dear. The beginnings of a life of crime. How did you manage it?”
    “Easily. They invited me home to the Park Avenue apartment for Ann’s birthday party. I came in with a huge satchel full of presents, and left with the same satchel stuffed with the dress—and some suitable jewelry. Oh, don’t look at me that way. You know Mother will never miss it. It wasn’t even in the closet in her room. It was back in the closet in the storage room. She’ll never fit into this again anyway, it’s sizes and sizes too small. Besides, if she does miss it, she’ll just think she ruined it in one of her drunken moments. Believe me, she won’t want to embarrass herself by asking. God, I feel like I’ve been poached in these clothes. I’ve got to bathe.”
    Grabbing up her robe and bath things, Catherine headed down the hall in the direction Leslie had pointed. She hated the French system of putting the toilet and sink in their own little room and the bathtub in another. Fortunately the bathtub was free, and she hurriedly bathed off the flight and her exhaustion and returned to her room refreshed.
    “All right,” Leslie said the moment Catherine entered the room. “I’ve been patient. So tell.”
    “About what?” Catherine sat on the edge of her bed and hungrily wolfed down her café au lait and bread, liberally slathered with strawberry jam.
    “Your love life! You can start with that Arabian knight, or Russian prince, or whatever he is. The dark stranger in the photo.”
    “He’s Dutch. I’ve told you. Piet Vanderveld. He works with the Vandervelds, sometimes in Amsterdam, sometimes in New York, wherever they need him. He’s very helpful because he’s multilingual.…”
    “Catherine! I swear I will not be your friend one second longer if you don’t stop fooling around and tell me.”
    Catherine looked at Leslie.
    Leslie stared back at Catherine. “Well, it’s only fair! I’ve told you everything. You know every single detail about every man I’ve slept with, all my broken hearts … Come on, Catherine. Aren’t I your best friend anymore?”
    Catherine bent her head. She tore off a piece of baguette and rolled it between her fingers. “It’s just that I’m embarrassed,” she said quietly. “You probably won’t believe me. Leslie”—she was now sculpting the warm bread into a work of art—“I’m still a virgin.”
    Leslie whooped. “I don’t believe it! My God. Catherine! Why? Or do I mean why not?”
    Catherine played with the bread in silence. Finally she tossed it onto the plate and looked up at her friend. “I’m not apologizing,” she said. “I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not like you.”
    “I know you’re not. That’s one of the reasons we’ve been best friends for so long. I’m not making fun of you. But Catherine, you are twenty-one.”
    “I know. I’m twenty-one and I know what I want in life and it’s not to be swept off my feet by love! I just don’t have time for love now, Leslie—or romance, or sex, or any of that. I have to make my own