Cold water shifts and turns, escaping down the drain. The hall, filled with ivory pillars and red velvet, is wet and glossy, like a model on a magazine cover. Vases with lush green ferns drip from atop the pillars, threatening to ruin the jukebox rumbling in the corner. Everything shines, looks like it could break. There is a crowd of people mingling and drinking cocktails where the water had just been. The women wear flapper dresses and all the men are dressed head to toe like cowboys, from their ten-gallon hats all the way down to their spurs tearing up the carpet. James sits up, runs a hand through his hair and over his face to splash away the remaining moisture. A woman with sharp hips protruding from her tight red dress emerges from the crowd and stares down at him.