Berman was sitting on the couch, nursing his scotch. On the cocktail table in front of him was a second tumbler half-filled with neat whiskey, normally enough alcohol to knock her out cold. Pia realized that her plan was in danger of backfiring badly at the crucial moment. She could not get drunk herself. How much had Berman had to drink? A couple of glasses of Champagne, a couple of glasses each of white and red wine. Some, but not enough for a man the size of Berman and with a tolerance gained from being a heavy drinker. And herself? So far, she had had most of a flute of Champagne and less than half a glass of wine. She could take more than that, but with whiskey, that would be pushing it. She had no real experience with hard liquor.

Pia poured the whole cup of ice into the whiskey and mopped up the overflow with a napkin.

“Sorry, spilled a little. Well, good health.”

“Santé!” said Berman, taking a sip of his whiskey and relishing it.

Pia took a sip, and the booze made her cough.

“Steady on,” said Berman. “Are you enjoying it, or would you like something else?”

“I like the taste. I developed a liking for this stuff a while ago. But when I was at middle school it was more often Crown Royal I drank.” She was warming to the role she was playing. Looking over her shoulder, she gazed at all the photos. “I get the impression you’re an active guy.”

“I think that’s a fair description.”

“Is that one of you on the top of a mountain?” Pia asked, pointing to one photo in particular.

“It is,” Berman said proudly. “It was taken on the summit of one of the lesser peaks in the Himalayas.”

“I’m impressed,” Pia said. “Would you mind showing it to me?”

“Not at all!” Berman got up and walked around the couch. As he did so, Pia reached her tumbler down under the cocktail table and managed to pour out most of the liquid while holding in the ice with her fingers. When Berman came back with the photo she dutifully pretended to admire it. In actuality she thought rich man’s mountain climbing was one of the more ridiculous endeavors.

Berman came back around the couch.

Pia laughed as she put her tumbler down onto the cocktail table. “Now, that was a treat.” She pretended to belch and laughed a bit more. “Come on, with your drink. You’re losing.”

“I wasn’t aware it was a race.”

Pretending to be getting high, Pia said, “Can you change the music? Come on, let’s have a proper party.” She snatched Berman’s glass and handed him his iPhone. The glass was still about half-full.

“What do you want to listen to?” Berman asked.