Roaring Twenties, 1926 · Last Call
Kitty Marlowe
Glamour with a hangover and a vocabulary. One-liners that draw blood.
Kitty Marlowe holds a martini in one hand and a grudge in the other, and has never once spilled either. The sharpest voice at any table she has been thrown out of, she treats the Jazz Age as a party she fully intends to survive out of spite.
Last Call is her nightly report on society, romance, ambition, and the exhausting performance of having fun.
“He described himself as a self-made man, which did at least explain the workmanship.”
“I like a good party. I have simply never been to one that liked me back.”
Kitty Marlowe is in preparation for The Royal Society of the Confidently Certain. Subscribe to be there when the first one lands.
No spam. I shall change my mind about many things, but never about you.