“She’s trying to rekindle this old wild flame with Maximilian, but she’s going to be disappointed. He doesn’t like her the way she likes him. Or maybe I don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk to me much anymore. Sometimes I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome. Sometimes I think I should just strike out on my own.”

He asked what she planned to do. She didn’t know. She could go back to L.A., but everyone she knew there was a bum, and there was no money. At least here she could meet people, as long as she had Max—although most of the people he knew were bums too, artists of different kinds, hangers-on. She could get a job. She’d tried to be a Kelly girl once but failed the typing test. She’d been a hostess at a cocktail bar for a few weeks, but she’d been fired for slapping one of the patrons. She laughed at that. “Maybe I’ll just move somewhere tropical and live off mangoes.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Occasionally the tops of her toes brushed the bottom of his foot, and although he was listening, and looking at the fire, every nerve was concentrated on that spot.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’re young and…” He wanted to say beautiful. “You seem like someone who can take care of herself.”

She smiled at him. “You’re nice.”

They watched the fire die down again and listened to the wind outside. The side of her foot lightly rested against his. He held still so as not to draw attention to it, so she wouldn’t take it away. Nothing was happening. But if Effie were to get up and find them there, he thought, it wouldn’t have looked good.

He finished his drink. He wanted to be the first to say it. “I’d better hit the hay,” he said. She said all right. He stood up and picked up his sweatshirt. “It was good talking to you,” he said, and she said, “To you too,” tipping her glass up in mock formality, and he hesitated a moment, looking down at her—a single beat that, he feared, must have revealed himself completely—before he said good night and went upstairs.

Seven

Effie awoke with a sore throat. She sat up in bed with her hand to her head, and Henry rubbed circles on her back. “I can’t tell if I’m hot,” she said. “Am I hot?”

He placed his cheek against her forehead, the way his mama used to do. She did feel warm. “Maybe some coffee will make you feel better?” he said, and she nodded.