Don was getting dressed, shoving the tail of his shirt into his suit pants, as a woman in a beaded gold dress put her shoes on. I ran out. And Don followed me. “Let’s talk about this at home,” he said, grabbing my elbow. I yanked it away, searching for Celia. There was no sign of her. Harry came in through the front door, fresh-faced and looking sober. I ran up to him, leaving Don on the staircase, cornered by a tipsy producer wanting to talk to him about a melodrama. “Where have you been all night?” I asked Harry. He smiled. “I’m going to keep that to myself.” “Can you take me home?” Harry looked at me and then at Don still on the stairs. “You’re not going home with your husband?” I shook my head. “Does he know that?” “If he doesn’t, he’s a moron.” “OK,” Harry said, nodding with confidence and submission. Whatever I wanted was what he would do. I got into the front seat of Harry’s Chevy, and he started backing out just as Don came out of the house. He ran to my side of the car. I did not roll down the window. “Evelyn!” he yelled. I liked how the glass between us took the edge off his voice, how it muffled it enough to make him sound far away. I liked the control of being able to decide whether I listened to him at full volume. “Tm sorry,” he said. “It isn’t what you think.” I stared straight ahead. “Let’s go.” I was putting Harry in a tough spot, making him take sides. But to Harry’s credit, he didn’t bat an eyelash. “Cameron, don’t you dare take my wife away from me!” “Don, let’s discuss it in the morning,” Harry called through the window, and then he plowed out, into the roads of the canyon.