Daniel could not know how narrowly she had escaped being one of those institutionalized children herself, nor could he know that her foundation supported such homes; Wade had hidden certain facts of her life.

“I’m sure your cause is worthy,” she said, her tone tender. “But I can’t risk offending my hosts.” Or Wade. Or the orchestrated plan that, at long last, had taken her to the top.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to impose on you.”

Her finger found a sharp corner of the small gift box. The edge pressed the soft tissue. “We each give what we can,” she said, and resumed walking.

The sucking sound of a hydraulic lift, the banging of hammers and the shouts of stagehands calling orders grew louder. A couple of assistants peeked at her and disappeared, but their presence hung in the air like an order to prepare for her next obligation.

She tossed her hair back. “What does a cultural attaché do? China doesn’t get enough visiting American artists to keep one busy.”

“I’m on a human rights watch for the United States.”

“Oh. My goodwill concert tour is merely a distraction, I guess.”

Across the crescent crease of his smile she noticed the fine slash of a scar. “Judging by tonight’s performance, a welcome break,” he said.

At a narrow hallway of straw mats and canvas sheets nailed over two-by-fours, bare light bulbs threw shadows down more arteries that crisscrossed under the stage and were teeming with people. Four of her American musicians huddled together, and the sweet smell of marijuana reached Nola. She would ignore it; the musicians had worked hard for her tonight.

Wade would have raised hell, for the Chinese authorities had warned they’d cancel the entire tour if anyone were caught with illegal drugs.

She caught Daniel glancing at three security men as they beamed their flashlights behind partitions. “Deranged fans can pull off demented stunts,” she said by way of explanation, “and Wade’s not one to leave anything to chance.”

“Neither would the Chinese,” he said. “Dissidents are under house arrest in each of the six cities of your tour.”

A string tugged in her heart. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for them?”

“You are bringing a taste of democracy. Their confinement is the small price they’re willing to pay.”

She stopped in front of her door, her hand on the bamboo latch, hesitating to undo it. From the next room over rolled the laughter of her stylist and his staffers. Two roadies, wearing the tour’s black Double Happiness shirts that sported the Chinese four-loop calligraphy in gold, squeezed a dolly down the narrow passage. She waved at them to pass while Daniel flattened himself against the wall.

She cracked the door open, wishing to linger, even if she wasn’t up to Daniel's challenge. “Thanks for the gift,” she said. “I’ll cherish it.”