“My college roommate and I started an Internet company when we were sophomores. Basically, we never have to work again,” the prospective filmmaker answered offhandedly.

When the filmmaker seized his opportunity to introduce himself to Spike and Denzel, Charlie wedged his way through the crowded room to find Samantha.

“Adrienne, have you seen Samantha?” he asked Adrienne Strong-Rodman while she was still in mid hip-hop.

“No, doll. But I would kill to have thrown this party. I’m so jealous. I could fuckin’ kill her.”

Charlie continued to look for Samantha.

Grey Navez waved at him. “Great party, Charlie.”

“Only Samantha! Only Samantha!” Tina Schultz chimed in.

“Yes. She’s incredible.” Charlie smiled and went to get a drink.

“A Grey Goose on the rocks,” he said to the bartender.

“Aren’t you some famous doctor?” The bartender stared at him.

“I don’t know about that. But I’m a doctor and I don’t play one on TV,” Charlie answered.

“Yes you do. I saw you being interviewed on E! Entertainment Network the other day. You were giving someone really famous a chemical peel.”

“Oh, I’m not sure it was me.”

“Man, it was you.” The bartender tapped Charlie on his arm. “I’m an actor, so I bartend and watch E! You were giving one of those Piel sisters a chemical peel. How much does something like that cost?”

“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.” Charlie walked away.

Charlie looked down at his watch. It was getting close to 2 a.m. and the party was still going strong. Most weeknight events in New York ended soberly by ten-thirty so the captains of industry could get to work early the next morning. It was the rare evening when anyone over thirty stayed out past midnight.

“Have you seen my wife?” Charlie asked Jil, who was wearing a do-rag on his head.

“She’s here somewhere.”

“Where’s Francesca tonight?” Charlie asked.

“She said she had to work late. Poor thing. She’s such a good girl. But I suppose that’s why we all love her.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Charlie continued to look around the room.

“If I see Samantha, I’ll tell her you were looking for her.”

“I’m sure we’ll catch up.”

There was something about the earnestness of Francesca Weissman working late that made Charlie want to leave before he said the wrong thing to one of those white women dressed up like Queen Latifah.

“Clarice! Clarice!” Charlie called as he saw Clarice Santorini moving very quickly toward the exit.

“Clarice, it’s Charlie Acton!”

Clarice continued walking.

“I was just wondering where your husband is.” Charlie stopped her. “I thought perhaps he’s seen my wife.”

“Who the hell cares,” Clarice mumbled, and kept walking.

“Excuse me?” Charlie answered.

“I’m going home and I suggest you do, too.” Clarice shoved her way out of the room.