Most important, she washed the towels and sheets in special environmentally friendly liquid. She even did the occasional load of personal laundry. This gave her a new kind of jurisdiction over the washing machine. Mrs. Amberson was the queen of guests, and her needs came first.

As she worked away that afternoon doing the “room freshening,” Scarlett made sure to take everything that could possibly be washed—not just the sheets and towels, but her Egyptian cotton bathrobe, her neatly bundled pile of yoga clothes, her silk pajamas (handwashing was an excellent way of killing time in the basement).

Scarlett had a lot of laundry—and a plan. Not only would she keep guard over the basement by doing the laundry and going up and down the steps, not only would she have an appreciative guest, but…she would also be at the rehearsal.

Because, if she was really being honest with herself…which she only sort of was…this saving-the show-by-sticking-it-in-the-basement idea wasn’t just about helping Spencer. It was mostly about helping Spencer, of course. That was eighty percent of it. But there was no harm in a plan that helped her brother while allowing her to see the most beautiful guy in all of creation, even if that meant doing all of the laundry in the entire hotel.

Mrs. Amberson arrived home as Scarlett was wheeling out many of her possessions in the laundry cart.

“Well, well,” she said. “Such a work ethic! I leave you alone and tell you to take it easy, and you decide to do piles of laundry. I worry for you, O’Hara.”

“I’m fine,” Scarlett said, tightening her hold on the cart. “I like laundry.”

“That’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard. Put those things back. You and I are going out. My friend Billy is working on a massive musical and he wants me to come by.”

“No,” Scarlett said. “I really can’t. I have plans.”

“Plans?” Mrs. Amberson leaned against the Empire Suite door. “What kind of plans?”

“With friends.”

“I thought all of your friends went away for the summer.”

“One of them came home early. She got stung by bees. Lots of bees.”

“How tragic. Well, of course! Go and see your friend. And the laundry…”

“I’ll keep it,” Scarlett said, quickly wheeling it off toward the elevator. “I’ll do it before I go. Have a good night at the show!”

She could feel Mrs. Amberson watching her as she waited.

“Give my best to your friend,” she said. “I’ll be thinking of her.”

THE RISKS OF BEING LUCKY

At six-thirty, Spencer and Scarlett went to Central Park, where he had arranged for the cast and crew to meet, well out of sight of the hotel. The idea of meeting a bunch of Shakespearian actors intimidated Scarlett a little at first, but when she arrived, she saw a bunch of people who looked pretty much like the same people Spencer went to high school with. They were a little older—mostly college students—but looked pretty harmless.