With one hand on the steering wheel and one eye on the road, Billy leaned to his right, took something from the glove compartment, and handed it into the backseat. It was a waiter’s pad from the Beverly Hills Hotel. The fourth page was titled SIGHTS TO SEE BEFORE I LEAVE L.A. It had an itemized list of fifteen destinations, thirteen of which had been checked off in a forest green ink, as if the pen had come with the car.

Leaning over Olivia’s shoulder, Eve pointed to item number fourteen: The Donuts of Santa Monica.

—How long have you been in Los Angeles? Olivia asked in disbelief.

Eve pretended to count on her fingertips.

—Two months, three weeks, and a day.

—I’ve been here for four years and haven’t done half of these things.

—You’ve been busy.

Olivia took another look at the list.

—Skating?!

—The Pan Pacific Rink is one in a million! Billy enthused as he pulled himself up by the wheel. The real McCoy! Not only is it the largest skating rink in the world, every Saturday they have an orchestra that plays polkas and on Sundays they serve hot toddies!

Eve winked at Olivia.

—Speaking of hot toddies, Billy: What have we got in the glove?

Billy leaned to his right again and handed back a flask.

Eve took a generous sample.

—Gin, she said like the pleasantly surprised.

But when she held out the flask, she could see that Olivia hesitated to take it.

—Come on, Livvy. Even a churchbell’s gotta swing, if it’s gonna chime.

Olivia laughed and took the flask. She wasn’t used to drinking gin with a mixer, never mind straight from a bottle. The first swallow seared the back of her throat. But the second went down more smoothly and the third was perfectly pleasant. Within minutes she could feel the liquor in her extremities—tingling at the tips of her fingers and toes. Then like tendrils of ivy, it began climbing her arms and legs, presumably en route to her head.

Eve rolled down the window and closed her eyes as the in-rushing air tore at the pages of her pad. Following suit, Olivia opened her window and leaned into the breeze along Sunset as the brightly lit marquees leaned back—boasting of World Premieres and Held Over by Popular Demands.

It was true what Eve had said: Olivia had been busy.

How many roles had she played since she had come to Hollywood? Fourteen? Fifteen? She had lost count. First, there was Dolly Stevens; then the guileless Lucille and innocent Hermia. Arabella, Angela, Elsa, and Cath. Maria, Germain, and Serena. Each one as demure as the last.

—So, of all the men in Los Angeles to dine with, why Wilmot?

Olivia looked back from the window to find Eve holding out the flask. Olivia took another drink.

—It was arranged.

—Arranged? What are you, Amish?

Olivia laughed.