“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Freeman. Or are you thinking there are days when I wonder if he’s doing it right, ’stead of me? How many women are partners at Crawford now? Three, isn’t it, out of a roster of ninety-eight? There are days when I wish I made Dick’s money, but there’s never a time when I wish I’d put myself through what a woman has to do to make it in your kind of firm.”

Freeman gave a placatory smile and tucked my hand under his arm. “I didn’t come here to alienate my feistiest client. Come on, Saint Joan. I’ll clear a path to the bar for you and get you a glass of champagne.”

In the few minutes we’d been talking the shrimp mountains had disappeared and most of the strawberries were gone. The haunches of beef seemed to be holding their own. I scanned the crowd as we strolled downstairs but couldn’t make out Lotty or Max. Teri’s bronze dress had disappeared too.

I tried staying close to Freeman, but as we hit the ground floor this proved impossible. Someone cutting between us got my arm separated from his. After that I followed the close-cut gold hairs along his neck for a few twistings through the mob, but a woman in pink satin with trailing butterfly wings needed a yard’s clearance and I lost him.

I moved with the eddies for a bit. The noise was intense, echoing off the marble pillars and floor. The sound filled my head with a white roaring. It became impossible to concentrate on any outside goal, such as looking for Lotty; all my energy had to go to protecting my brain from the swells of noise. No one could possibly carry on a conversation in this lion’s den—they all must be shouting simply for the pleasure of adding to the uproar.

At one point the jostling moved me close to the food tables. The men behind the haunches stood expressionless in their little island, only their hands moving as they sliced and served. The shrimp had vanished, as had all the hot food. All that was left besides the meat—now close to the bone—was the picked-over salads.

I dove back into the tide and began fighting my way across the current to the theater. Some fancy elbow-work brought me to the columns separating the aisle doors from the foyer. The crowd thinned there; people who were trying to talk could get their heads close enough together to hear one another. Michael and Or’ were huddled with five or six serious-looking people. I moved past without speaking in case these were major donors, and escaped into the body of the theater.