She approached Johan beneath a covered lanai away from the pool area, and thus away from most of the guests. There was a polite hug and air-kiss, maybe twenty seconds of pleasantries, then it was down to business. It wasn’t nearly as clandestine as Barrett Lorne’s backroom transaction. Maria handed Xander an envelope crammed with cash, he handed her a half-ounce bag of canary, which she placed inside her purse. Before stepping away, she looked at Kitty and her mouth wrinkled—the barest hint of shame.

“It’s not cheating,” she said, and shook her head, perhaps to reinforce her fragile words. “The light’s already inside me. This just helps it shine brighter.”

“It’s all good, sister,” Kitty said.

Kurt Wilborn was next. He’d nodded at Johan a couple of times during the party but didn’t approach until after midnight, when half the guests had said their goodbyes. Johan was checking out the nine-foot robot in the living room. Xander was with him, as always. Kitty had struck up a conversation with Samuel L. Jackson and looked entirely enamored.

“This wasn’t even in the movie,” Kurt said, sliding up beside Johan, hands in his pockets. “It’s a life-size model, used as a visual reference. The movie’s all CGI.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Johan said. “How are you, Kurt?”

“Conflicted,” Kurt said.

Kurt Wilborn’s career was successfully average—an eighteen-year run of small parts in big movies. He was the scientist in the superhero flick, the married friend in the rom-com, the deputy sheriff in the western. He had one leading role on his résumé, in the gritty crime thriller Smoke Street, which was slated for theatrical release, but went straight to VOD during COVID-19 and bombed. He’d once told MovieMaker that the words “also starring” would likely appear on his headstone.

“Conflicted?”

“I’m not sure I want to use your product anymore.” Kurt squeezed one of the robot’s huge metallic fingers. His hand was baby-sized in comparison. “I don’t think it’s helping. I’ll always be that guy, you know. That actor. Doesn’t matter how well I read for a main part.”

“Hey, man . . .” Johan shrugged. “Your life. Your career.”

“There’s an ethical dilemma, too,” Kurt continued. “An artistic dilemma. I mean, even if I land another lead role, will that be down to me—you know, my talent—or down to the canary?”

“Canary is a direct line to your potential,” Johan said, tapping one finger against his chest. “It takes away any distractions and enables you to do your best work. It’s not a genie in a lamp. It can’t make wishes come true. It’s a nootropic, which are widely used in all industries. Jesus, even college kids use them at exam time.”