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probably agreed that keeping his wife happy was worth the subterfuge. Milloy’s mom was a Chinese immigrant who wanted her son to find a nice girl and start making babies. At least with a woman by his side, she could cling to the possibility. Fina was ideally suited to the job; she didn’t have any trouble playacting, and she could hold her own in a fancy restaurant and make casual conversation. And she liked helping Milloy; he always did the same for her.
    Two and a half hours later, stuffed with lobster bisque, duck confit risotto, tiramisu, and red wine, Fina and Milloy were back on Nanny’s blue velvet couch.
    “Are you up for a field trip?” Fina asked Milloy as he skipped through the channels.
    “What do you have in mind?”
    “It’s a long shot, but I can’t just sit around doing nothing. Let’s poke around at Crystal,” she said, naming a huge nightclub popular with a weird cross section of people, including rich kids looking for trouble, gangsters, and cougars on the prowl. She knew that Melanie had been there on a few boozy girls’ nights out. Fina didn’t think she frequented the place, but if you were looking for dirt, Crystal was a good place to start.
    “There’s nothing on. Sure, why not?”
    Fina went into the bedroom and changed out of her more conservative dinner attire into a tight black dress that skimmed the top of her knees. She slutted it up a little with strappy high heels, smoky eye makeup, and a few strands of cheap necklaces. She liked to think that she could pass for midtwenties and shave ten years off her age with the proper clothes and dim lighting, but it may have been her own faltering eyesight that allowed her that illusion. She knew she looked good, but it wouldn’t be too long before the dreaded suffix was added to that assessment:
for her age
.
    Milloy was perfectly dressed in his well-fitted suit. He didn’t have to fiddle with his age or degree of cheapness in order to get into the club; he exuded mystery. Milloy was very handsome, and his Chinese heritage always made people ask, “What are you?” a question that never failed to irritate him. “I’m human, man,” was his standard response.
    At the club, he turned his keys over to the valet, gave Fina his elbow, and they walked to the front of the line outside of Crystal. The bouncer was short and overmuscled, each thigh the size of a toddler. He looked them over, and when he hesitated, Fina pulled on Milloy’s arm.
    “This is a joke. Let’s go to Club 100,” she said.
    The Neanderthal looked anxious for a moment. Milloy shrugged, and they turned away. The bouncer reached for the velvet rope and unhooked the clasp. They walked through the door. Nothing like seeming uninterested to make you interesting.
    Crystal looked small from the outside, but actually stretched all the way from the street to the Mass Pike, which butted up behind it. The space had a low ceiling and was painted black, which contributed to the tunnel-like feel. It was dominated by the dance floor and anchored by the DJ’s setup. A huge bar spanned the left side of the room, and tables littered the right side. There was a staircase near the entrance that led to the VIP section.
    Milloy and Fina parted company so she could snoop and he could scoop. She made her way through the crush of bodies and found a bartender who wasn’t completely besieged by underage girls ordering fruity drinks.
    “Can I get a Sam Adams?” She held a twenty between two fingers, and the bartender reached behind the bar, pulled out a bottle, and popped off the top.
    “Ten bucks,” he yelled over the din.
    “Jesus,” Fina said. She laid the twenty on the bar. “Is Willie here tonight?” Willie Kendrick was one of Fina’s go-to guys for reliable information of dubious provenance.
    The bartender started mixing a drink for the young guy who had muscled in next to her. “Ask Dante.” He looked up at the VIP section. “He’s upstairs.”
    “Thanks. Keep the