“That’s the way of big business,” he said.

She cringed, then bent to nuzzle Lulu. That made the world recede back to its comfort zone. Wade had still not explained his promises to Mauriello, but his failure to do so had lost its magnitude. He had exhausted her.

Backstage, the screeching of dollies, the off-key sounds of instruments being tuned, the rip of duct tape as cables were rolled and secured, and the fresh aroma of pinewood being cut and hammered had the calming effect of the familiar.

Pushing Lulu's stroller, Nola introduced her to the roadies. She didn’t know the many Chinese who swarmed backstage; only a fraction of them wore the black T-shirts with the gold Double Happiness calligraphy. Which of the others were local union representatives, carpenters and electricians—and which were government agents out to get her baby?

“When I’m on stage, you are not to allow anyone to touch Lulu for whatever reason, except me, Leslie or Daniel,” she told Yoram. “She goes—I disappear. You let no one get near her—not Wade, not anyone. The password is ‘Mommy.’ ”

She pushed the stroller back to her dressing room. Teams of stylists, makeup artists and assistants bustled about. Wade was waiting. “Twenty minutes to curtain and you haven’t even started to get dressed!” he called out.

“Out!” She pointed to the door. “Get out of my room—and out of my life!”

“Watch your vocal cords—” he began, but Leslie glided in between them. Wade clammed up and left.

In the hush that settled after his departure, Nola eyed the front of the rack. Her first gown was made of pale yellow viscose with a chiffon overlay of the palest orange. It streamed in long, animated strips with tentacles of beads slithering up from the hem to the bodice, where they sparkled over the chest. When Nola had first tried on the dress, her body had giggled with excitement. Now she sought that elation. Soon, the ecstasy would turn into a love affair between her and her audience. It was all so elusive, residing in another sphere.

“Let’s do some yoga to get you focused.” On the carpet, Leslie folded his legs in a lotus position and tapped on the spot beside him. “Breathe in and out. Breathing is God’s gift to us.”

“You don’t say.” But as the assistants tiptoed out, she settled next to him, her legs crossed.

“Say a mantra. Ohooooooom—”

She gave over herself to emptying her head, to psyching herself, to be the best she could be. Ohooooooom—” Fans counted on her, looked forward to basking in her music. She loved each of them. Ohooooooom—”

“Oooo.” Lulu grinned at them. “Oooo.”

“Breathe in and out,” Leslie repeated.