The home Lu had furnished for herself was elegant—full of rich fabrics and delicate antiques. In the cabinets were crystal and bone china; the walls were painted a serene taupe. The conservatively classy choices Lu had made would have stunned her loyal fans, who knew her only as a charming hoyden with a brassy voice who leaped out of the orchestra pit and landed on the stage in a split—in her midthirties she was still famous for such horseplay—but Rose knew that the formal rooms expressed the character of the real Lu Lawson. Underneath the professional razzle-dazzle, her mother was a quiet woman who had an old-fashioned work ethic and old-world tastes. Her apartment full of antiques suited her perfectly.

“You should have a party,” Rose said one morning, “to show off this place.”

She'd said it in passing, but her mother had grabbed on to the idea. “I've never done that,” she said. “I've lived here for ten years and I've had friends over for dinner but I've never had a real formal party …” She stopped. “I can pull it off, right?”

“Absolutely,” Rose said as she headed out the door with her skates.

By the time she returned, Lu had already lined up a caterer, a florist, six waiters, and a bartender. She was waiting for Rose. “Good. You're home,” she said. “What am I going to wear to this shindig?”

“You have closets full of clothes.”

“We both know all my taste is in my tongue when it comes to my wardrobe.”

“I'm sure you'll find something,” Rose said reassuringly.

“Did you see me at the closing-night party for All the Boys? I looked like a Tyrolean schoolgirl.” She thought for a second. “Make that Big Bo Peep.”

Lu was right—her taste in clothes tended toward ruffles, bows, lace, and the color pink. Whether it was a reaction to all the boyish roles she played, or because, like a lot of small women, she thought she had to dress like an ingénue, she usually wound up looking like a pink meringue.