“Todd Milstead is a writer,” she said. “If you wanted someone who dresses like a fashion plate, you should have booked Halston.”

“We had him last week,” said the young man. “This way, please.”

Todd was taken to makeup, where he was sat between a cheery-looking young man he vaguely recognized from a sitcom set in the 1950s that he hated, and a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair who was having a dispute with the makeup woman.

“I can do my own makeup,” the frizzy-haired woman was saying. “I’m forty-two, I’ve done it before.”

“But this is television, honey,” said the makeup woman. “Those lights are going to bear down on your face like the desert sun.”

“She’s right,” said the cheery young man. “You’re going to look sallow.”

He said this as though looking sallow was the worst thing that could happen to any human being.

“All right,” said the frizzy-haired woman. “Just don’t make me look like a clown.”

“Shoot,” said the makeup woman, “there goes my whole plan for you.”

After makeup, Todd and the others were taken to the green room. Todd found himself at the drinks table with the frizzy-haired woman.

“Todd Milstead,” he said.

“Jane Collins,” said the woman. “And don’t worry, you haven’t heard of me. I think someone dropped out at the last minute.”

“I thought that was why I was here,” said Todd.

“You’re the author, right?” said Jane. “All My Colors?”

“You’ve read it?”

“Everyone’s read it,” said Jane, dryly. “It’s the book of the year.”

Todd couldn’t tell if she was mocking him. He decided not to ask her if she’d liked it. Instead he said, “So what’s your thing?”

“My thing?” she said, as though she’d never heard the word before. “Well, my thing is documentaries.”

“Oh,” said Todd, instantly bored. “Right. That sounds cool.”

“I made this film,” Jane said, “about what’s happening in Central America right now. Got into trouble with some people there, and here, but we got the film made and now it’s up for some damn award. So here I am.”

“That’s great,” said Todd, who couldn’t think of anything less great. “I wish you every success.”

“You’re too kind,” said Jane, and now Todd was sure she was mocking him. Todd felt uneasy, as he always did with women who had taken against him. He excused himself and went over to Nora.

“Still nervous?” she asked.

“Much more nervous now,” Todd said.

“That’s my boy,” she said.

“When do we get to meet Tom?” Todd asked.

“You don’t,” said Nora. “Not before the show, anyhow. He doesn’t like to meet his guests in advance.”

“Right,” said Todd, “I think I need a drink.” He moved over to the drinks table.

“You’ll be fine,” Nora said, standing between him and the wine. “Just keep your wits about you.”