She smiled. “Got an album’s worth of new lyrics. ‘Gifts Aren’t Promises; Touches Aren’t Contracts,’ and ‘Love Is Wanting the Same Things.’ And something that goes like ‘Let me touch the places where you hurt and I’ll be the woman you want me to be.’ ” She laughed. “And listen to this one. She began to chant. “Oh, the places I’ll go if I choose,/ Let go of the sorrows, let them run loose. It will be an upbeat number.”

“You’re fantastique.” He grinned and his ears poked out between strands of long hair. “We’ll get to work before you lose the ideas? Tonight?”

“Not tonight.” Nola motioned to the band, and the music tapered off. Murmurs summoned people to squeeze in from the other rooms. She surveyed the faces and tried to evoke the old euphoria. But the rapture had diminished; it was no longer the oxygen of her being.

Wade stood nearby, his hands clamped under his armpits. He smiled at everyone, as though redefining a new comfort zone in the bosom of friends, employees and business acquaintances.

“I’d like to thank you all for your love and support these past few days—these past many years. Without all of you, I would not have been here or become the person I have,” Nola said. Holding her glass of champagne out of Lulu's reach, she raised it and toasted all of them. They were good people who wished her the best.

As she was about to take a small sip, Wade stepped over, put his arm around both her and Lulu, and bent to kiss her.

Nola's throat tightened with anger at this public display. Hadn’t he heard her? Courage, she told herself. She had passed worse tests. “You asked for it,” she hissed, then wriggling away, she said to the guests, “I hadn’t expected this impromptu forum, but I might as well close a window of speculation. I will be filing for divorce.”

He gave out a chortle, as though her statement was a silly joke. Recovering, he imitated the swing of a golf club, twisted his body, aimed and hit an imaginary ball. His Chiclets teeth shone too bright.

“No more details yet. It’s been thirty hours since I left Manila. I’ve missed a night’s sleep and my body clock is set to tomorrow morning,” she explained. “Again, I love you for your support. For being a part of my world.”

With Leslie carrying Lulu, Nola walked toward the sweeping, half-circle staircase that led to the top floor.

A wiry man with wavy gray hair and the rugged, tanned skin of a yachtsman stood on the first step, mapping out the party. “That was quite a bombshell,” he said when Nola approached.

“Keith!” Nola squealed. “You’re here!”

“You were right to bring it up. Even at sea I heard of a rift between you two.”