“I don’t think you can ignore the integrity of the individual voice.” Albert began a long tirade about writing and sporadically cited passages from The Song of Roland, Balzac, and Proust. “You’re talking about movie writers, and let’s face it: even the great screenwriters are craftsmen and not true artists, since screenwriting is an expertise in which form dictates the content.” Albert signaled the waiter to bring in another bottle of wine.

As Albert went on pedantically quoting Goethe in German and the Aeneid in Latin, Judy felt her heart racing. She didn’t keep Ativan at the dinner table and the waiters were late with the desserts. In honor of Samantha, Judy had had her cook re-create old-fashioned flaming baked Alaska to be wheeled in on a silver trolley. She tried to catch the headwaiter’s attention by bobbing her head and gently pointing.

“Personally, I think the more writing becomes about the opinions of producers and marketing M.B.A.s, the lower the quality of our culture will be,” Albert concluded.

“Is that what you learned at Yale?” Barry asked him.

“I went to Amherst,” Albert replied.

“Same thing.” Albert was boring Barry, and Barry prided himself on never wasting his time. Even sitting next to Samantha wasn’t easing his unrest. Barry abruptly got up from the table. “Let’s go, Clarice. I have an early call tomorrow morning.”

“But dessert is just coming,” Judy said anxiously as the silver trolleys with flaming baked Alaska rolled in.

Barry kissed Judy. “This was great. Gotta do it again.” Then he turned to Samantha. “Nice talking to you. Let’s go, Clarice.” He grabbed her arm and they left.

Samantha couldn’t remember the last time she witnessed somebody behaving as rudely as Barry. She found it simultaneously repugnant and instructive. Until Barry got up, she suspected that she would be stuck singing barefoot at the end of the dinner, just to make her hostess happy. But Barry’s departure, and the residual sensation of his leg pressed up against hers, gave her the courage to politely leave shortly after coffee in the living room.

“How could you do that to me?” Judy exploded at Albert after the final guest left.

“Do what?” Albert continued drinking his port.

“You forced Barry Santorini to leave.”

“That man is a vulgarian.” Albert lit a cigar.

“Barry Santorini produced fifteen Oscar-nominated movies, including The Red and the Black and Costumes of the Country, for which he got two Oscars, one for Isabelle Huppert and the other for Kirsten Dunst, who happens to be both your daughters’ idol,” Judy answered in one agitated breath.

“He’s still a vulgarian.” Albert puffed his cigar.

“Well, thanks to you, Samantha left right after one coffee and no one lingered for after-dinner drinks, except Pippa Rose and her husband and we fuckin’ employ her!”