"That's so sad," Claire said absently, without looking at me. "You must be John."

"So people keep telling me. Jack." He pointed to himself. "And Josie."

Claire grinned an attractive gap-toothed grin. "Well, Jack and Josie, I'm afraid you're the only two young people in a room full of old folks."

"Eugene said something about a son," I said.

She grimaced. "Dear G.o.d, is Eugene trying to set you up with Martin? That's like him." She rolled her eyes. "Poor, deluded Eugene. He does keep hoping." She winked at me. "Let's just say you're not his type, dear, and let it go at that. And even barring that-but never mind." She shook her head. "I'm still not sure that physicists should be allowed to breed. Although you two seem to have turned out all right," she said, looking at Jack.

"We're painfully average," I said.

"I'm not sure about that," she said, "but you're identifiably human."

"We have to go. Our father is waiting for us." I pushed Jack into the crowd. When we were well away from her I said, "My G.o.d, is there anyone here who isn't going to hit on us? Maybe you're right. Maybe I should try and land Searles."

"It's all about s.e.x, Josie."

"What is?"

"Everything."

Raeburn was talking heatedly about something when we got back. Eugene was still standing next to him, and a small crowd of men had gathered around the two of them. "He is the personification of everything that's wrong with modern theoretical physics," Raeburn was saying. "What can possibly be left of quantum mechanics after it's filtered through a brain raised on thirty-second promotional spots? A music video, that's what. Lots of flashing lights and flashy clothes. A pseudorevolution led by pseudoscientists who study the laws of the universe because 'black holes are s.e.xy.'"

Jack nudged me.

"I'm not saying Ben's a brilliant theorist," Eugene said pla-catingly, "but he's a wonderful teacher. Even you have to admit that, Joseph."

"I have to admit nothing of the kind. He's engaging. He's popular. But does that make him a wonderful teacher? It might make him prom king, but-"

"You're only jealous because you didn't get to stand up onstage wearing the crown, Joseph." Claire appeared at Raeburn's elbow and put a consoling hand on his arm. "Don't worry, darling. I promise I'll ask you to the next Sadie Hawkins dance."

Everybody laughed. Even Raeburn. I shifted awkwardly on my too-high heels and wondered if all of his colleagues were blind not to have seen the flash of rage on his face when Claire spoke. Jack was watching Claire with open admiration. I decided that I didn't find her amusing.

"Really, though," Claire continued. "You're taking this all too seriously, Joseph. You're still the acknowledged mad genius around here. Rest on your laurels, why don't you, and leave poor Ben alone. He's a nice kid."

Raeburn smiled tolerantly. "Poor Claire, led through the nose by the ever-louder ticking of your biological clock."

"Careful, Joseph," Claire said. Her lips were tight. "Your desperation is showing."

Eugene looked around nervously, seemed to see me, and coughed. "Well, then, Miss Josephine. Why don't you tell us what grand plans you have for the future?"

"I haven't really thought that much about it," I said. "Maybe I'll be a physicist."

Jack stared at me.

"Like your father?" Claire said. "Oh, that's sweet."

Raeburn smiled and managed to look proudly at me. Well, at least now we're both lying, I thought, and smiled back.

Later Jack and I smoked a joint behind the greenhouse, shivering and up to our ankles in snow but away from the lights and the people. I'd had quite a bit to drink by then, and the cold, fresh air was good after the heat and noise of the party. The store of sociability I kept in reserve for these occasions was exhausted. My nerves were jangling. I wanted to be stoned. I wanted to go home.

"What was that c.r.a.p about wanting to be a physicist?" Jack said. "You're no more a physicist than I am."

"I don't know. That Claire person was getting on my nerves."

He half-laughed. "She's a sharp one, all right. Think you'll be that sharp when you're fifty-two?"

"How do you know she's fifty-two?"

He shrugged. "She and I had a little chat while Raeburn was talking about what a firm grasp of string theory you have. Already knowing what an impressive junior physicist you are, I didn't feel a need to listen." The joint crackled as he drew on it. He pa.s.sed it to me. "That old b.a.s.t.a.r.d deserves what he gets, all that pompous garbage about pseudoscientists, and black holes being s.e.xy. What a f.u.c.king sn.o.b."

I said nothing. Just took a long drag on the joint and waited for it to hit.

Jack kicked at the ground furiously. Then he looked at me and gave me a wan smile. "I could kill him, Jo. Trotting us out like show ponies whenever the mood strikes him," he said. "I could kill him."

"Well, don't," I said. "I don't know how we'd get out of that."

Jack didn't answer.

Somebody was trying to get my attention. I was standing in a corner, trying to be furniture; I was thoroughly stoned and not a little drunk, and it took a moment before I understood that the voice was speaking to me. I turned around. A man with sandy hair tied back in a ponytail and wire-rimmed gla.s.ses stood at my shoulder. He was young, not that much older than Jack, and he didn't look entirely comfortable in his tuxedo.

"Your hair is about to catch fire," he said and pointed to a small table next to me. On the table was a short, fat candle with three wicks, all of which were burning simultaneously. My hair, free of its braid for the night, had drifted perilously close to the flames.

"Oh," I said stupidly.

The man said, "Oh, indeed," and moved the candle. The sober part of my brain sent up a signal flare and I realized who he was.

"You're Ben Searles," I said.

"I am. Have we met?"

"Last year." I remembered to stick my hand out so that he could shake it. "I'm Josie Raeburn."

"Joe Raeburn's daughter." He gave me a careful look. "I heard you and your brother were going to be here tonight. I should have recognized you."

"How? It can't be from the photo on the Christmas card. They aren't even in the mail yet."

He smiled. "There's a family resemblance. But I'm glad to hear about the card. I was starting to think I was being snubbed." He looked a little strained. "You know, your father is a brilliant scientist. I actually wrote a paper on some of his work when I was a student. Condensed matter theory. Terrible paper on an interesting subject. I hear you're planning to go into the family business."

"What? Oh," I said. "No. That's a rumor. I'm not sure how it got started."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I was thinking about cosmetology."

"Ah. Fringe astrophysics," he said. "Studying cosmets."

I stared.

"Joke?" he said.

Then I got it and laughed-probably too hard. I was stoned, and what Raeburn had said was true: Searles really did have dreamboat eyes. When I could speak, I said, "I didn't know you were funny. I've been hearing about you all night. n.o.body said you were funny."

Ben took a sip from his drink, which looked like Scotch on the rocks. "I've been hearing about you since I started teaching."

"Not from my father."

He gave me a curious look. "No. From everybody else on the faculty. Whenever his name comes up, somebody says wait until you meet his kids."

"Wait until you meet us to do what?"

He shrugged. "Everyone says you're-really something. Smart. Good-looking. All those things we like in people these days."

Something about the way he said it made me think that smart and good-looking weren't what he'd heard about us at all. "I imagine," I said, "that the things that you've heard about us are the same things we've heard about you."

Ben smiled crookedly. "Quite possibly."

We sat in silence for a while. Across the room I could see my father talking to someone I didn't recognize.

"Your father's a brilliant scientist," he said again.

"He's a raging son of a b.i.t.c.h," I answered.

A few gla.s.ses of wine later, I went looking for Jack and found him standing on the front porch, talking to a girl. She was young, wore her dark hair in a severe bob, and had thick gla.s.ses. I didn't notice anything else about her before I pulled him back into the house.

"Please can we go home now?" I said.

Distracted, Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Wait a few minutes. I was talking to-"

"I saw. I want to go home. I want to go home now."

"Just wait."

"No." It was hard to talk. Everything seemed to be happening at a great distance. "I'm stoned and I'm drunk and I'm starting to get paranoid. Please?"

"Five minutes," he said and went back outside to the girl on the porch.

I waited by the door, growing more and more agitated. He didn't come and he didn't come and he didn't come. Meanwhile, my stomach was increasingly unreliable and my feet increasingly unsteady. The room was full of people in elegant clothes, light chamber music was playing somewhere, and I was standing next to a burning candle that was filling the air with a nasty sweet smell.

I couldn't avoid the people or the music, but I could get away from the candle. Fresh air, that was what I needed. Not the front porch, though. Not with Jack and that girl. I started to make my way through the crowd. It was harder than I thought it would be. Things were whirling. The air grew thick. The other door seemed to have disappeared, or the layout of the room had changed, because I no longer knew which way to go. I put out an arm to steady myself.

Unexpectedly, somebody took it. From somewhere on the other side of the fog I heard somebody say my name. I grabbed at the voice with both hands and fell over onto Ben Searles.

"Hi," he said. "You need some help?"

"Outside," was all I could say.

"This way." Gratefully I let myself be led through thecrowd. I tried to lean on him so it wouldn't be obvious that I was drunk. Finally we came to a door and he opened it, letting in a wonderful blast of cold air. Then the thick, sweet smell of burning vanilla filled my nose and mouth. I opened my mouth to say that this was the wrong door. Instead I threw up.

Then I was on my knees, staring at an enormous puddle of red wine and stomach acid soaking into a beautiful, intricately patterned rug. The people near us looked alarmed and embarra.s.sed, and moved away quickly. I heard Ben say, "She's okay, but don't eat the oysters," as he handed me a c.o.c.ktail napkin. There was a little nervous laughter. I was wiping vaguely at my mouth and staring at the spreading pool on the floor, which looked exactly like I felt: soiled, used, vile.

"Okay?" Ben was crouched next to me. His polished shoes were perilously close to the vomit puddle. For some reason that made me feel worse and tears welled up in my eyes.

"It's okay," he said. "Can you get up?" He put his arm around me and lifted me to my feet. Somewhere between the floor and his shoulder I started to feel dizzy again and my eyes closed. My head fell against his chest and I thought, dimly, this is all very inappropriate.

I heard Raeburn's voice. "What is this? What's wrong with her?"

I didn't open my eyes. Ben's shirt smelled nice, like an extremely clean forest.

"It's okay, Joseph," he said. "She's not feeling well, that's all."

And then Jack's voice cut through the fog like a bell. "I'll take her."

Ben said, "She's okay," but I made my eyes open, found the tuxedoed, golden-haired blur that was Jack, and put my arms out toward him like a child. I saw the face of the girl from the porch drifting over his shoulder and then I was in a cloud of Jack-smell, with his good, strong arms around me, and my eyes closed again.

Raeburn sounded formal and aloof. "I can't even begin to tell you how embarra.s.sed I am, Searles. I'm sure we can handle her from here."

"Just get her home, she'll be okay." Ben sounded easy and light.

"I'll take care of it." Raeburn was still smooth, still polite. He took my arm and pulled me away from Jack and I was on my own again, trying to stand, with the only certain thing in the world the bright burst of pain where his fingers dug into my flesh.

Searles turned away.

Raeburn started to pull me outside, half carrying, half dragging me.

"In front of all my colleagues, Josephine?" His voice was an angry hiss. "In front of everyone I know? Do you think I don't have enough to worry about from these people?" His grip tightened. "Where did you get it? Who gave it to you? Was it Searles?"

"They aren't exactly carding," an unfamiliar female voice said. "She could have gotten it anywhere."

"What she didn't get herself I got for her," Jack said. "For Christ's sake, let go of her. She's sick enough."

I was conscious of wintry air on my bare legs. We were outside now. "Excellent," Raeburn said. "You've gotten your sixteen-year-old sister drunk in public."

"As opposed to in private, where it's okay."

Raeburn swore and pushed me toward Jack, who was warm and stable in the cold white world. "Take her if you want her. You've already ruined her."

I started to cry. My legs lifted off the floor, and then I was being carried away and placed in the truck, carefully; Jack's coat was tucked around me, something soft was put under my head, and all the while I heard Raeburn's voice from very far away saying cruel things until finally the door closed.

Later, at home, Jack held a gla.s.s of water up for me to drink.

"Jack."

"Hm?"

"They were talking about us. All of them."

"Well, they are now," he said calmly.