At that moment, I was happy. I lingered over my color combination. I touched my earlobes and realized they were naked. It made me sad. I smoothed my dress and even applied some lip gloss. I made myself focus on Griffin’s office and his compliments and joined him at the bar.

My drink was not alone. Next to it sat a pink concoction belonging to Annabel. I hesitated. I did not want to wear my weakness in front of someone so put-together. I breathed. I walked steadily and sat down next to her. She gazed at me.

“Wow. You certainly clean up nicely. Is that Armani?” Annabel asked.

I noticed Griffin moving away from us. “Yeah,” I said. “My ex-husband bought it for me before the wheels came off the bus. Long before I hit domestic turbulence.” Annabel laughed out loud.

“Sorry. That’s funny. I’ve never heard anyone use that phrase except for my brother, who is getting out from under his own domestic turbulence.” For a moment we just sat there, drinking our drinks, keeping company with our own thoughts.

“Oh my God!” Annabel exclaimed. “You’re her.” I wasn’t sure who I was, but I was pretty sure I was guilty of it. “You’ve been all over Page Six in New York.” She said it as if New York were a foreign country. It was as if the scandal and my divorce had followed me everywhere. Like those pesky commas and prepositional phrases that kept linking me to Elliott. I simply nodded. I took a rather big gulp of my drink. It was starting to dawn on me who she was. “I’m Mac Whitney’s sister. Annabel Whitney Monroe.”

“Well, shit.” I smiled despite myself.

“Mac told me all about you. He told me how beautiful you were in an understated way. He came in here trying to poach Griffin’s cappuccino recipe. For you.”

“I’m hungry. Let’s get a table.” I realized my notoriety was appealing to some folks. Griffin seated us in a booth and brought another round of cocktails over.

“My brother is an outrageous flirt, but you made quite the impression on him. He appreciates your talent. He refers to you as Lily. All I could think of was Mac was crushing on some married woman named Lily.” She paused, weighing her next words carefully like one would do between fast friends. “He knew you were married, but I think he was much more worried about a certain bartender in Atlanta.” I smiled, only because it was strange to hear Griffin referred to as a bartender. I told her about feeling like Lily Bart. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. I’ll be very interested to know what you have in store for VERT.” I told her that I liked to assume different places in the restaurant to understand the visual benefits and drawbacks. She referred to these placements as my “perch.”