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stuff. We’ve barely had a conversation in the past few weeks, and I live with the woman.”
    “Well, okay,” she said. “It’s just not pleasant to be—estranged, you know?”
    In that moment he sensed Alison’s vulnerability, as deep and raw as a wound. It wasn’t just being alone at a party, or being at odds with Claire; it was something more. She might not have known it yet, but it seemed to Ben that she was deeply unhappy. And in some way, impossible to articulate, even to himself, Ben felt linked to Alison in this, as if his fortune and hers were entwined.
    “I do know,” he said.

Chapter Four
    By the time Alison did, finally, talk to Claire, the party had thinned and the bartenders were loading dirty stemware into plastic rental crates.
    “I’ve been trying to get over to you all night,” Claire exclaimed, an obvious lie that Alison was content to accept. Claire pushed the hair out of her face and exhaled, blowing air across her lower lip, as if now, finally, she could relax. “Have you talked to my mother? Does she know you’re here?”
    “We said a quick hello,” Alison said. “We’ve both been … ” She waved her hand around to indicate a flurry of activity. In fact, she had been avoiding Claire’s mother all evening, and she suspected that Claire’s mother had been avoiding her. Lucinda’s quiet diffidence had always depressed her; Alison rarely knew what to say. Alison had always thought that they recognized in each other certain personality traits, such as timidity and passive aggression, that neither of them particularly admired. Their orbiting Claire this evening only accentuated their similarities.
    “Did you have a good time?” Claire asked suddenly. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She reminded Alison of a birthday kid after blowing out the candles, exhausted from being the center of attention for too long.
    “It was a great party,” Alison said, with genuine feeling—it had been a great party. “Did you enjoy it?” This was where their relationship was now—somewhat formal, and yet still, somehow, intimate. Alison didn’t know if Claire had had a good time, but she felt entitled, even obligated, to ask.
    “I did,” Claire said, as if she were surprised to say so. “Though it’s weird for things to be so … so public, after all that time scribbling away in a room by myself.”
    “Dear God, yawn. Isn’t that what all writers say when they finally get published?” Ben said, coming up behind them. “We’re going to have to think of something more original for you to say when you go on tour, you know.”
    “My husband, my press agent,” Claire said.
    “By the way,” said Alison, “Charlie’s sorry he can’t be here. We had a babysitting situation.”
    “Oh, that’s all right,” Claire said.
    “We should all have dinner again one of these nights, after Claire gets back,” Ben said. “Maybe you two could come into the city.” He touched Alison’s back with the flat of his hand. “We miss you guys.”
    “We’d love that,” Alison said. She took a sip of her drink. (As one of the bartenders was packing up, he’d handed Alison a half-full glass of blue liquid. “The end of the martinis,” he said. “I’d hate to see it go to waste.”)
    “Mmm,” said Claire.
    “So when are you going on tour?” Alison asked.
    “In about a week. Just a few towns. Nothing major.”
    “Are you going, Ben?” Alison asked.
    He shrugged, and Claire shook her head. “It’s going to be so tedious,” she said. “One obscure radio station after another.”
    “She says I’d be trailing after her like Prince Philip. Though I think that could be fun. I’ve got the stance down.” Ben clasped his hands behind him and rocked on his heels, then added, “I did point out to her that the queen rarely makes appearances at chain stores in strip malls.”
    Two women, the peacock from the elevator and a fresh-faced girl with a Marc Jacobs bag, whose proprietary manner