Free A Fine Imitation by Amber Brock

a small glass bottle from his inside pocket. “Brought my own.”
    “How clever,” Bea said. “Then you don’t have to share.”
    “I don’t mind sharing,” he said. He drank a bit of the brown liquid.
    Before Bea could make another crack, Vera jumped in. “So, Bea tells me you’re all on the rowing team?”
    Gene sat on the log nearest the three of them. “That’s right. Unstoppable and unbeatable.”
    “I imagine that takes a lot of energy,” Bea said, undaunted by Vera’s glare.
    “I guess so,” Gene said. “No more than any other sport.”
    “What do you say, Cliff?” Bea said. “Do you have more energy than the average boy?”
    Before he could answer, Vera tried again. “Bea tells me you summer with Harry’s family, Cliff. Does your family have a house on the Cape, too?”
    “No, nothing like that. We’ve only got one house.” He peered at the fire, then stood. “Excuse me. I ought to get more kindling, or we’ll lose the flame.”
    He walked away, his steps crunching through the carpet of leaves surrounding the logs. Beside her, Bea struck up a lively conversation with Gene, punctuated by an occasional quip from Harry. But Vera’s head swam with the alcohol’s drowsy warmth, and she was content to sit quietly, watching the dark spot where Cliff disappeared into the shadows under the trees. She had the passing thought that she ought to have fewer houses, but she brushed it away. It was a silly thing to wish for, and she smiled a little at her own embarrassment.

Though Vera held a party to introduce Hallan to the building the evening after his arrival, it seemed everyone had already bumped into him by the time dawn broke on his first full day at the Angelus. One by one, the ladies called on Vera, ostensibly with a question or the need to borrow some trifle. Mostly they just bragged about having met “the artist.” Poppy said she ran into him in the elevator, and Vera supposed she had ridden the elevator up and down all afternoon hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Caroline Litchfield said she saw him in the hallway, but Vera could not fathom any reason for her to be on the second floor at all. Bessie Harper, true to form, was the most brazen; ignoring etiquette, she had simply knocked on his door. The women buzzed with excitement, almost floating above the chairs Vera offered.
    Though the invitation clearly stated, “cocktails at 7:30, seating at 8,” people began arriving as soon as the clock read seven twenty-five. Vera had Evans direct them into the drawing room and waited until the exact time on the invitation to enter. Arthur followed shortly after. Hallan arrived late.
    He stood in the doorway, and the room immediately broke into applause. He smiled, but his brow knitted almost imperceptibly. Vera walked over to greet him, and he gave the room a little nod of acknowledgment before stepping to her side. His dark suit made the bluish hue in his eyes more prominent, and he had tamed his hair into a sharp part. Vera thought it fortunate that he knew how to dress himself appropriately for a formal dinner party. There was no knowing what kind of savagery a working artist might be accustomed to.
    “Good evening, Mr. Hallan. So kind of you to come,” she said.
    “How are you this evening?” he asked.
    “Very well, and you?”
    “I’m well. Thank you for hosting, I’m looking forward to meeting everyone.” He scanned the room. “Well, everyone I haven’t met yet.”
    “In that case, let me introduce you to my husband.” She turned and laid a hand on Arthur’s sleeve. He disengaged himself from his conversation. “Arthur, I’d like to present Mr. Emil Hallan.”
    The men shook hands, and Arthur drew himself up to his full height. “How do you do? I received your letter, of course.”
    “Glad to hear it,” Hallan said.
    “I’m sure my wife has inquired about the suitability of your accommodations.”
    Hallan glanced from Arthur to Vera, then back again. “Oh, the apartment