FROM THE BEGINNING of her marriage there had been the Girls. That was Rose's name for the pretty predators who stalked her husband. The Girls didn't care if they wrecked a home or broke another woman's heart if they thought they could further their careers or have a shot at being the next Mrs. Bobby Manning. The first Girl had shown up about six months after Bobby and Rose were married. Bobby hadn't even waited until their first wedding anniversary to start playing around. However, he had waited until his show, The Lady, had opened and became a smash hit. First things first.

Bobby never flaunted his affairs; Rose knew he didn't want to hurt her—or rock the boat—as long as he could do what he wanted. So Rose pretended she didn't know about his Girls. What other choice did she have? There was nothing a wife in her circumstances could do except smile when she wanted to scream, swallow her pride, ignore the pitying looks from her husband's friends who thought she was too stupid to know what was going on, and pack her husband's bags when he went out of town to work on his new show, even though she knew he'd probably have a Girl with him. The bag packing might have seemed humiliating to an outsider, but it actually made the wife feel safe. As long as her husband needed her to do things like that for him, she could convince herself that he wouldn't leave. So she folded his shirts carefully in tissue so they wouldn't wrinkle, and made sure his favorite toiletries were tucked into his monogrammed shaving kit, and she waited until the Girl of the moment finally went away. Then a couple of months later it would start all over again. And always in the pit of the wife's stomach was the fear that this new Girl might be the one who would not go away. That the marriage the wife had fought so hard for would end. That she would be alone. That her mother had been right.

NIGHT AFTER NIGHT as she lay in her bed, Rose would remind herself that she had won. Everyone said Bobby Manning would never settle down. But he did—with me. I won Bobby Manning. But then the unwanted, unbidden question would come. What the hell did I win? Forget that he can't stay faithful for fifteen minutes. Forget that he's so insecure he has to buy every kid in the chorus a thousand-dollar Christmas present, and he overtips so much it's a joke. What about his talent? Everyone says he's a genius, but is he? It's not like he's ever written something uplifting and meaningful that will stand the test of time, like the Panis Angelicus. He writes Broadway musicals, for God's sake.