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during the span of more than a decade. ‘Isn’t that a little awkward in your line of work?’
    â€˜My clients understand,’ the literary agent said, now with a genuine smile.
    â€˜They understand he’s a nut job,’ Prudence cracked out of the corner of her mouth.
    â€˜One that negotiates some of the biggest advances in our industry,’ Potter countered.
    I glanced at my seat companion in surprise. It was the first time I’d heard Laurence Potter say anything positive about anyone.
    Except himself, of course.
    â€˜Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ I said to the agent. ‘And your costume is wonderful. Count Andrenyi, the Hungarian diplomat.’
    â€˜Costume?’ He looked down at the hat in his hand.
    Uh-oh. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought … umm, I mean, you look so much like Michael York, who played the role in the, umm …’
    The man exploded with laughter. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I couldn’t help myself.’ He held up a badge encased in a plastic sandwich bag. It read, ‘Carson/Count Andrenyi.’
    Oh, thank the Lord. At least the germaphobe had a sense of humor. ‘So you
are
playing the count tonight.’
    â€˜I am, and apparently I’ve nailed the role.’ Carson the agent/count was pleased with himself.
    â€˜Carson was originally on Broadway,’ the man in the checkered sports jacket said from behind me. ‘In fact, we worked together way back when. Rosemary Darlington was in theater, as well.’
    â€˜What interesting career paths,’ I said, meaning it. ‘Actor, agent, writer—’
    â€˜A lot of young people come to New York to study theater,’ Carson said. ‘Just as they flock to Los Angeles for the movie industry. Most of us end up doing other things. Only a very few can make a living at acting and even fewer become famous.’
    â€˜That’s not so different to writing,’ Markus said. ‘How many writers give up their day jobs?’
    â€˜More than should,’ Potter observed acerbically.
    â€˜That’s true,’ Carson agreed, whether because the reviewer had bolstered the agent a minute before or not. ‘Writing fiction is, at best, project work. You start one book and hope you have a contract to publish another by the time the first is finished. And that the successor sells once it, too, is published. Nothing like a twice-monthly, automatically deposited payroll check, by any means.’
    â€˜Even the best writers have gaps between books,’ Grace contributed. ‘Look at our Rosemary.
Breaking and Entering
came out nearly five years after her last book.’
    â€˜Is she one of your clients?’ I asked the agent. The more I learned about these bizarre people, God help me, the more I wanted to know.
    â€˜No, but she’s represented by another agent at my firm, Natanya Sorensen, who was supposed to be here and play countess to my count.’ He directed a smile toward me.
    I returned it. ‘You’re … countess-less, then?’
    â€˜Natanya had the sniffles, and I insisted she stay home and take care of herself.’
    â€˜Good thing the woman listened,’ I heard Prudence mutter. ‘Or he’d have sealed her up inside a Baggie, too.’
    Undaunted by the jibe, Carson continued his train of thought. ‘I’m afraid Missy was very disappointed.’
    â€˜That’s because she’s a control freak,’ Prudence said.
    â€˜That’s unfair,’ Grace protested. ‘Missy’s worked very hard to put this together for us.’
    â€˜I managed events for a large corporation up north,’ I said, ‘and I would’ve loved to include someone with Missy’s initiative on my staff. Did you know she’s driving Rosemary Darlington to the train station because the guest of honor didn’t want to ride the