Barry didn’t answer. He continued walking slowly up the stairs, grabbing both banisters with his hands.

When Samantha woke up Barry was already downstairs and on the phone. He waved at her. “I have crazy actors who won’t shoot in New York. Go shopping. This is going to take me all morning.”

“Okay.” Samantha shook her head.

“Have I told you I’m really glad you’re here?” he whispered in her ear and went back on the phone while opening his wallet. “Here, use my credit card. Get something that drives the antifur people crazy.” Then he went back to the phone and closed the door.

Samantha had no intention of spending Barry’s money. Except she thought some kind of extravagance might lift her spirits. She had been up most of the night thinking about shattered glass and paper cups. The darkness in Barry’s log-cabin mansion scared her.

Samantha hiked to town from Barry’s house. The air was clear and brisk, and the snow on the mountains pristine and invigorating. New York, Judy Tremont’s dinner parties, her ridiculous cable television show, and the unfinished coffee-table books all began to fade into a distant world. A red Hummer passed by and Samantha stopped to look who was inside. Years ago she would have disdained some movie star who felt the need to drive a $100,000 army vehicle. Now she thought maybe she and Barry should get one. They have armor.

Once she was in the middle of town, Samantha had no interest in poking her head into Tiffany, Cartier, or the western-gear Dolce & Gabbana. But when she walked past Gorsuch she stopped to look at a mink-lined parka in the window. Samantha laughed to herself. It was the sort of thing she used to love to wear largely because her mother dismissed it as “Alpine vulgarian.” In the opposite window was a bright yellow one-piece Postcard ski suit with a fur-trimmed hood. Samantha knew she could still pull it off and went in and within five minutes bought it.

A few blocks later she passed the library and decided she’d get a couple of books in case Barry fell asleep again tonight. She had just finished Trollope’s The Way We Live Now and thought she’d read another by him. The good thing about Trollope was there seemed to be an endless supply.

“Well, hello!” A tall figure in a puffy pale pink Bogner ski jacket tapped her on the shoulder at the door. “How are you?”

“Judy!” Samantha kissed her on both cheeks. “Honest to God I was just thinking about you.”