But there was Mauriello’s last statement hanging above her head. He would drag her down with the collapse of his China scheme, and there would be no Wade to fight him. With no distribution, no co-op dollars for store advertising, no guest appearances, no promotions to radio stations, no approval for airing music videos on TV, no specials on pay-per-view, no web site and Internet links—and, mostly, no new recordings—her career would come to a screeching halt.

“Why don’t you talk to Keith?” Leslie asked. “Let him help during the transition period.”

“He doesn’t need a job. He landed with a golden parachute when he sold Phonomania.”

“At least seek his advice. He adores you.”

She touched Leslie’s cheek. She had never dared articulate the distrust that had crouched at the edge of her consciousness in the recent weeks of turmoil. “I was afraid someone might lure you away—maybe even extort you—”

He looked away as though listening to faraway music. “I thought that’s what the new job offer might be all about.”

“What job offer?”

“Oh, some hotshot position at the National Endowment for the Arts. The whole thing was too weird, and my muse told me to ignore Wade.”

“Wade?”

“He urged me to consider it.”

Nola's seething had the rumble of an old echo. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t describe what I feel—”

“I’ll ask Keith to come up.”

“Not yet. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Cool. That will give you time to exercise. We’ll start easy. Some stretches?”

“May I have a break, please? Lulu and I need a bath, and I still must speak to Wade.” She watched Lulu hoisting herself to a sitting position. “Please send everybody home. And keep the staff away from this floor. I want no eavesdropping.”

She decided it would be better to have the talk in Wade's suite. If an argument heated up, she’d retreat to her bedroom and lock the connecting door.

When she stepped into Wade's study, he was leaning on the fireplace mantel and poking the empty cavity with the iron. His jabbing released the smell of damp ashes. He turned, and the wild look in his eyes frightened her. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Wade, I—”

“I’ve made a mistake. Everyone’s entitled to one in life. Lord knows you’ve made some very serious ones. Where are you coming from, to make a statement about a divorce? And without speaking to me first?”

“You set the tone when you forgot to consult with me about a thing or two before we left for China. And while we were there.”

“Oh?”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “I have no interest in rehashing things. I’d like to end this marriage amicably.”

“I’ll give you ‘amicably.’ ” He stepped toward her. In a surprisingly swift move, he got hold of her mane of hair. “Do you think your shit glows in the dark?”