And now, as she stood in Bobby Manning's dirty hallway, she felt the hole again, bigger than ever. For the first time, she wondered if she really wanted to love him for the rest of her life. It was a rogue thought, and maybe even a dangerous one. Still she tried it on for size. What if she were to run right now? She could go someplace far away from the city, her mother, Bobby, and show business. She'd find a small town where she could get a job doing something normal people did. She'd find a normal man who also had a normal job, who would love her and who wouldn't leave her alone because he was a damned creative genius who didn't want her around when he was working. She would never have to be afraid of losing him. Rose allowed herself a moment to savor the vision of herself as a safe, secure housewife. But soon other visions crowded her brain. She saw Lu holding court with a group of eager interviewers asking her opinion on everything from her favorite breakfast cereal to peace in the world. Rose saw flashbulbs going off like fireworks when Lu left a party, she heard the band strike up the hit song from Lu's latest show whenever she entered a nightclub, and she saw the adoration on the faces of those who stopped Lu in the street to ask for an autograph. Most of all, she saw the triumphant smile on her mother's face when she took her bow in front of a cheering audience. And that was when Rose realized just how much living with a star had warped her. She was like a ballet dancer who had been turning out at the hips every day at the barre for so many years that she could never walk normally again. Rose wasn't talented enough—or selfish enough, she thought—to be famous herself, but she would never feel it was worth it to get up in the morning if she was going to be plain old Mrs. Nobody. And besides, she loved Bobby.

If I lose him, I'll die.

She looked down at the floor. “Do you have a mop I can use to clean this up?” she asked Tristesse. The skinny girl nodded, went back inside her apartment, and returned with two dirty rags, a mop, and several brown paper bags. Rose bent over and began picking up pieces of glass and china. Tristesse leaned against the wall to watch, but something in the pile caught her eye. “Hang on,” she said, and bent down to inspect a shard of the broken dinner plate. “Is that from the ‘21’ Club?”

“Yes,” Rose said tersely. Her only goal in life now was to get out of this hallway.

“Bobby's coming up in the world. Usually the girls who come here bring a cheap Chianti and a pizza.”