I was thirsty, but the wait would be long, so I went to look for Janis and Dee. I threaded my way to the next room, scanning the crowd. There were no short, intense middle-aged women and their fey British girlfriends. Battered road signs hung from the walls, larger than life. NO RIGHT TURN. BINGO! FRI & SAT. The air thickened with every step, growing layers of smoke, beer, sweat, and the dreamy cellophane aura of ambition that follows all the young people who move to L.A. Beyond: another cavern, this one full of booths, each stuffed with customers, elbow to elbow, holding clear and golden drinks. I smiled to myself at the scene and found a small corner of space beside a giant black papier-mâché cat. It wore a red velvet robe. An empress cat. I liked it immediately. It reminded me of Janis.

All of us at the Rocque had our stories about Janis’s regal benevolence. How she measured each of us with her alert gaze. She made sure our benefits were top-notch, despite the cost to the budget. She loved having company for Dodgers games and slipped surprise tickets into people’s mailboxes. She knew everyone’s name and their problems, and in late afternoons, usually before a new exhibition was to open, she wandered the museum corridors, finding an office and sailing in. She would begin her prying by asking about the art on view. She wanted to hear true opinions, and to argue them down victoriously. And then she wanted gossip. What did you hear about Brent, the crew leader, and his ill wife? “He carries great personal burdens, you know. Great burdens,” Janis would say, dangling the opportunity for her listener to contribute. “This can’t go beyond this room,” she would add, stern but cozy with you. She rarely maligned anyone, but she dug and ferreted and delighted over nuggets of personal information from people, the more famous and powerful the better. Confidentiality was a promise that you knew that Janis herself would betray as soon she drifted to the next office, yet to be blessed with her attention meant you belonged at the Rocque and she cherished you. I’d come 150 miles to prove myself to her, and she wasn’t even here.

The empress cat was too short to hide behind for long, but its raised paw aimed out the door to a trellised yard. I was just about to follow its directive when I felt someone’s eyes. I looked back to the bar and froze.