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it was in my hand. “Why, yes, it seems I do.”
    Thierry cheerfully set about pouring and shaking a fresh martini. “And something for you, Mr. Wallace?”
    â€œAnother Virgin Mary.”
    â€œYes, sir. Very good.”

3
    With dinner served, the focus of the party quickly shifted from drinks to food. The babble died down as people began eating; Tanner stepped to the stereo, switching to more tranquil music, inching down the volume. My guests settled into clumps of quiet conversation, gathering on furniture near the fireplace, sitting on the floor, or drifting out to the terrace. The catering crew moved back and forth from the kitchen, offering wine, clearing dishes, bringing out dessert plates. I moved among everyone, making sure all were happy, receiving nonstop compliments and thanks for a memorable evening.
    Though it was Saturday night, the party wouldn’t drag on indefinitely. By midnight or so, with everyone fed, my cast and crew’s exhaustion had set in, and the revelry wound down fast. As soon as coffee was served, a few guests began getting up, carrying things to the kitchen, and circulating for a round of farewells. I stationed myself near the front door, and before long, everyone had gotten the message—it was time to go. Thierry dismissed the bartender and one of the servers; the remaining staff began packing their wares.
    I wasn’t keeping track of exactly who left—I was caught in a whirl of smooches and good-byes—but glancing over my shoulder into the living room, I noted that only Grant, Tanner, and the caterers remained. Abandoned glasses, napkins, cutlery, and dishes littered
the room. Kiki was at the door with me, leaving with a last group of guests.
    â€œStraight home now,” I told her, wagging a finger in good-natured admonishment. “And drive safely.”
    â€œOf course, darling. Sober as a judge,” she assured me.
    â€œSteady as she goes!” said one of the other guests, someone I didn’t know, stumbling out the door.
    â€œWorry not,” his buxom companion told me. “ I’m driving.” And she followed him to the street, rattling her keys.
    Kiki asked, “Call me, Claire?”
    â€œFirst thing in the morning, I promise.”
    â€œWell, not too early, I hope—tomorrow’s Sunday.”
    I reminded her, “It’s already Sunday.”
    â€œIncredible party,” said one of the tech crew, slipping out. “Another triumph for Claire Gray.”
    â€œYes, yes,” I said, sounding bored, “yet another …”
    â€œGood night, Claire,” said someone else. “It was smashing.”
    â€œ Yes, darling,” echoed Kiki, “simply smashing. Ta-ta, love.” She leaned to peck my cheek, then exited with a flourish.
    Leaning through the door, I called after everyone, “Good night, all!” Then I turned back into the room and closed the door behind me, collapsing against it.
    Grant was standing at the bar, pouring himself a last drink. He tapped the rim of an empty glass, telling me, “I think milady needs a nightcap.”
    I wagged a hand. Glancing about the room, I asked, “Where’s Brandi? Did she abandon you?”
    â€œFlew the coop, back to LA.” He tapped the empty glass again. “Hmm?”
    â€œNo, thank you, dear. I’ve had enough.”
    Tanner asked, “Had enough music?” He was crouching near the bookcase that held the sound system, returning CDs to their cases.
He wore a simple outfit that night—dark dress slacks and a white cotton shirt with its collar open and sleeves rolled up. Lord, the sight of him.
    â€œMore than enough,” I said with a laugh, referring to the music.
    Tanner stood, punching a button on the stereo. The music stopped.
    â€œAhhh”—I stepped cautiously, on tiptoe, to the center of the room—“such blessed silence.”
    The words had no sooner left my mouth when a