“There's something I have to tell you,” he said.

The tingling sensation stopped. She looked around and realized just how dirty the coffee shop really was.

“Running into you at the rink the way I did—that wasn't an accident,” Bobby said. “I've been trying to meet you. I'd heard that you like to ice-skate and I've been hanging around Rockefeller Center and Wollman Rink in Central Park for about a month now.”

Oh, damn, she thought.

“Last week I saw you and I recognized you right away. I'd seen your picture in the Times—the one they took of you at the closing-night party for your mother's last show.”

Damn, damn, damn.

“I'm a writer. A musical comedy writer.”

I should have seen this coming. Why the hell didn't I see this coming?

“Two years ago, several of my sketches were in a revue that played down at the Village Vanguard. The show closed but I got good notices. I'm a composer too. I write songs—mostly special material for people's club acts. Two of my tunes have been recorded.” He took a deep breath, and then he said what he'd been leading up to. “I've written a show that would be perfect for your mother.”

What was surprising was how angry she was at him. Usually when this happened she was angry at Lu.

“I've tried to get it to her every way I could,” Bobby went on. “I sent a copy to her agent, but he refused to look at it. I left a copy backstage at her theater, but she mailed it back to me without opening the envelope.”

“She didn't mail it.” Rose heard her voice strong and clear.

“Yes, she did. I got it back.”

“But Mother didn't mail it,” Rose explained. “George did that. He's her conductor—but he's also her friend. George protects Mother from all the two-bit, no-talent hustlers who try to take advantage of her.” She stood up, took a ten-dollar bill out of her purse, and tossed it on the table. “This should cover my hot chocolate and the rental for your skates,” she said, starting for the door.

“Wait!” Bobby called out, and she heard a chair scraping on the linoleum behind her, but she didn't turn back.

She had a head start on him, and she would have lost him for good if a guy on the street hadn't run into her, interrupting her stride. Bobby caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

“You didn't let me finish,” he said.

“I didn't need to.” She pulled her arm away and walked faster. So did he.