If I were of sound mind, I would be using this opportunity to network, to try to pin myself to some heiress with a burgeoning shoe line. And I should be, I know I should be, but my brain is so far away from that right now that I can’t even imagine switching to professional mode in order to extract a business card from someone, let alone schmoozing long enough with an influencer to wriggle my way into her business.

The plan, once I establish that I’m not a threat, is to get a drink and stand alone, wait for one of the men who worked closely with Tom to intersect my line of vision, introduce myself and slowly go in for the kill, try to glean information about what Tom’s brother called oddness. I’ve got my hit list and they’re bound to be here tonight. The greatest prize, the meaty zebra, would be Mr. Bennington himself, whom I spotted near Louisa, a large man with a full head of what looks like real hair. But he and Louisa will probably be too busy hosting to talk long enough with me.

Jackson and Page return to my side, handing me a drink, which I throw back easily without paying much attention to what it is. I put my hand on Page’s shoulder and smile at her. “I’m going to wander around a bit. Be back soon!” And I get up before she can offer to come with me.

I begin winding my way around the clumps of revelers, get myself another drink just so I have something to hold. A lot of people, I realize, are staring at me, pretending not to, going back to their conversations while their eyes hover over their conversation partners’ shoulders. It’s more curiosity than anything; I don’t feel coldness, meanness, more like I’m a small spectacle, a trapeze artist at a party filled with people who are used to inventive distractions.

I wander outside to get some air. Clarissa, her husband and Layla are there; he’s a stocky guy with a shaved head to match his wife’s and Layla is tiny, five feet and no heels, with short hair gelled into spikes. Clarissa is chain-smoking. Layla is, inexplicably, knitting, her fingers clicking the needles rapid-fire. I decide to say hi to them before I move on with my quest.

“I’m trying to quit smoking,” Layla says by way of explanation, showing me the pattern she’s making. “This is the only thing that helps. And smelling it.” Clarissa, however, is much drunker, waving her cigarette in my face.