Celia laughed. “I think he’s cute.” “No, you don’t,” I said. “Well, I think he’s cuter than Mick Riva,” she said. “Harry? Thoughts?” Harry leaned in from the other side. He whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “I’m embarrassed to admit I have something in common with these shrieking girls,” he said. “I would not kick Mick out of bed for eating crackers.” Celia laughed. “You are too much,” I said as I watched Mick walk from one end of the stage to the other, crooning and smoldering. “Where are we eating after this?” I asked them both. “That’s the real question.” “Don’t we have to go backstage?” Celia asked. “Isn’t that the polite thing to do?” Mick’s first song ended, and everyone started clapping and cheering. Harry leaned over me as he clapped so Celia could hear him. “You won an Oscar, Celia,” he said. “You can do whatever the hell you want.” She threw her head back and laughed as she clapped. “Well, then I want to go get a steak.” “Steak it is,” I said. I don’t know whether it was the laughing or the cheering or the clapping. There was so much noise around me, so much chaos from the crowd. But for one fleeting moment, I forgot myself. I forgot where I was. I forgot who I was. I forgot who I was with. And I grabbed Celia’s hand and held it. She looked down, surprised. I could feel Harry’s gaze on our hands, too. I pulled my hand away, and just as I corrected myself, I saw a woman down the row from us stare at me. She looked to be in her midthirties, with a patrician face, small blue eyes, and perfectly applied crimson lipstick. Her lips turned down as she looked at me. She had seen me.