Viviana took a deep breath and lifted her ears. “Well, if I go all the way back, after we broke up, I moved in with my parents and cried a lot. I didn’t end up going to massage school. Remember that plan? My dad was furious that I wasted the tuition deposit. My mother wanted to get me out of my despair—or out of the house—so she pressured me to take a catering job with their friend’s friend, who hired me out of pity. I circled ornate rooms like a small shark. I picked up napkins discarded by purebred socialites.

“The work moved me through planes of reality, from kitchen to ballroom to dumpster and back. Catering renders you half visible, and acceptable in rooms you would not normally be in. I see why the job is a good cover for spies. I witnessed the rulers of New York misbehaving at weddings, fundraisers, and holiday parties because they considered themselves safe, cocooned with their own kind. I witnessed Trouble Helmsley slapping Conchita Posner beside a glittering rooftop pool. I walked in on the Wolf of Wall Street biting the neck of a hired sheep. My coworkers told me to ignore what I saw; they said it was all consensual, probably. Stay silent, they said. I learned that generally the rich are weak, twisted creatures. I learned to hate them while serving them smoked-salmon canapés. In that time, I lost myself; I did whatever drugs were available and stopped dancing.

“One night I was at a VOLE Foundation fundraiser and a cat guest struck up conversation. He asked me questions. At first, I thought nothing of it—I figured he was hitting on me. But then he began talking about art and the sea. I found out he was Hamish McHamish, one of Cappuccino Guggenheim’s lovers. Later in the evening, I was making another round of the room when he called me over to meet Cappuccino. They told my boss they were commandeering me for the night, and she just nodded. They took me outside to smoke catnip.”

“Oh, I’m sure they had to twist your leg.”

Vivi smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. “I was out in a parking lot with these two strange animals, and I think this is all a funny story I’ll tell friends. I tell them I should go back inside and clean up, and then Cappuccino asked, or demanded really, ‘Come and work for me?’”

“What about your class consciousness?” Alfonzo asked.

“I was trading the moneyed hordes for interaction with one rich dog. I was desperate for something new.”

“What happened?”

“Cappuccino has a home in Venice. She wanted me to join her staff to sail her boat there.”

“But what do you know about sailing?”

“Now, something. Then, nada.”