But that didn’t mean he was about to ask for the check. When the waiter returned to inquire about dessert, Wyatt (with his white hat securely on his head) would presumably note how famous Antonio’s was for its chocolate gelato; and Marian would smile politely and say that chocolate gelato sounded perfectly delicious. And they would spend another hour at this table for two talking of the shot put and the high jump before heading their separate ways.

The blonde from the powder room wouldn’t stay for dessert, Olivia found herself thinking. But then, she probably wouldn’t have put herself in this position in the first place. Having dined alone at the bar, she could now pay her check and go home to her own ivied terrace. Or more likely, head off in search of the finest band in Los Ángeles. En California. En todo el mundo.

—Cousin Livvy! Is that you?

Wyatt and Marian both looked up in surprise.

It was the blonde, but she looked bright-eyed and boisterous. And she had a Southern accent . . .

—It’s me, Evvie! she said, placing her fingers to her chest. All the way from Baton Rouge!

Olivia had to restrain a laugh.

—Evvie . . . I didn’t know that you were in town . . .

—I’m here with Aunt Edith! She’s waiting at the hotel, so I don’t have a minute. But they’d just paddle me back home if we didn’t catch up.

—Please join us, said Wilmot on his feet.

He brought a chair from the neighboring table and placed it between his and Olivia’s.

—Oh no, chided Evvie. Boy girl, boy girl!

She picked up Wilmot’s cocktail in both hands and placed it gently in front of the empty chair. Then she claimed his spot as the waiter arrived with a martini.

—In God We Trust, Evvie said, raising the glass.

—In God We Trust, Wilmot repeated a little uncertainly, as he raised his own.

—So . . . , said Olivia. What’s the news from Baton Rouge . . . ?

—You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, said Evvie. You remembah that colored boy who worked for Aunt Ethel? Well, last Septembah he up and drove off in Aunt Ethel’s Cadillac—with Aunt Ethel in it! And when the police finally pulled them over in Kansas City, it was the colored boy who was in the passengah seat and Aunt Ethel behind the wheel.

—I do declayah, said Olivia.

Evvie turned to Wilmot confidentially.

—Aunt Ethel always had a fondness for oldah husbands; and youngah men . . .

Wilmot, who was smoothing the linens again, attempted to change the subject.

—Have you been in Los Angeles long, Evvie?

—Just a few weeks, she sighed. But it’s been divine. Why, we’ve seen Charlie Chaplin’s house and Lon Chaney’s garage. We’ve been to the Tar Pits and the fights at the American Legion . . .