“Breaks his nose. He’s rushed to the hospital. The doctor does a shit job resetting it. It’s totally crooked. And the producer, I don’t remember her name, but it’s this woman and she goes to the hospital and she says, ‘Oh, no, Marlon, they’ve ruined your face.’ But he doesn’t care. He never gets it fixed. And he goes on to be a major star, bigger than anyone ever thought he’d be. And years later, she takes it back. It didn’t ruin his face, it enhanced his face. Somehow, with that crooked nose, he was more handsome. He had been too perfect before. Now he had a flaw. Now he was somebody you could touch. He looked like the most handsome real man that ever lived, instead of some beautiful doll.”

“It made him interesting,” Joan said.

Vanessa snapped her fingers. “Exactly—it made him interesting.”

“So my not liking this party is my crooked nose?”

“When somebody’s too smooth, there’s nothing to grab on to. Now that you’ve got a little edge to you, I can hang on.”

“You didn’t like me before?”

“I have always liked you, Jo,” Vanessa said, picking up her beer. “You know that. I just like you more now.”

Joan nodded. “Well, thank you for comparing me to Brando, I guess. No one’s ever done that before.”

“You also look a little like Ingrid Bergman—not that you asked,” she said.

Joan tried to picture Ingrid Bergman.

“From Casablanca,” Vanessa said.

“Oh,” Joan said. And then: “Oh, wow, that’s…that’s very nice. I’m not sure I see it, but thank you.” Joan just kept talking now, couldn’t stop herself. “First time I really met you, I thought you seemed like Cool Hand Luke. Not that you’re a man. Just…the attitude, maybe. Sorry, this is coming out wrong.”

Vanessa put her hand on Joan’s arm as if to stop her. “Joan,” she said.

Joan looked at her.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Joan laughed. “It is?”

“Yes, it is. Thank you.”

“Oh, well, you’re welcome.”

“I love Paul Newman. Who wouldn’t want to be Paul Newman?”

Joan shrugged and laughed. “I mean, yeah, when you put it that way. Who wouldn’t?”

Why had she been annoyed? She couldn’t remember.

Duke’s wife, Kris, opened the sliding glass doors to the living room and Steve’s dog, a blue heeler named Apollo, came running out and pawing at Vanessa’s leg.

“Oops!” Kris said. “Sorry!”

“No,” Vanessa said, crouching down to pet him. “You’re all right, aren’t ya, buddy?”

Apollo rolled onto his back, and Vanessa scratched his belly.

“Apollo, you make me wish I could have a dog,” she said.

“Why can’t you?” Joan asked.