“Indeed I did, old chap. It was late, quite late, and I was party-hopping with a group of rich expats I’d met at the Daisy.” He leaned forward. “I will be honest. I’m not unfamiliar with the experience of intoxication—none of us are, and you’re a dog that runs right with the rest of us hounds, Charlie—but on this particular night, I was quite smashed, and all of a sudden I was in this party in, oh, I don’t know…Malibu, maybe? Santa Monica? Venice? We were driving—”

Charlie raised his tumbler and downed more bourbon to hide his irritation. Lawford fancied himself quite the raconteur, but like most of the actors Charlie had encountered in Hollywood, he mistook the clever lines written for him by others as his own cleverness. That Americans were so easily seduced by an English accent only compounded the delusion.

“—then we were in this party, I have no idea who was throwing it, and it was full of old men and young girls. And somewhere in that blur—I kind of came to in the midst of this bacchanal, and there she was, this girl, I recognized her but didn’t quite know how, and you know, to be perfectly honest, it was her chest that I recognized. I mean, certain works of art one just remembers forever.” He smiled lasciviously, then seemed to recall that Violet was missing; he winced in regret and gulped a new martini that had been placed in front of him by an attentive waitress.

“You’re sure it was her, though?” Charlie asked.

“As sure as I can ever be of anything after a night like that, I suppose,” Lawford said. “But listen, old sport, I have a favor I’d like to ask of you.”

“Ask away,” Charlie said.

Lawford checked over his shoulder to make sure no one could hear him. The music was blasting and no one was within earshot.

“I got a call from Bob earlier today,” he continued. “Jack is not going to stay with Frank next month. Bob won’t let him.”

Charlie nodded as if this were news to him.

“Needless to say, Frank is going to flip his lid. And I have to deliver the news.”

“I’m picturing one of those Tasmanian Devil cartoons,” said Charlie.

“I know,” Lawford said, sighing deeply, “but as the Kennedy ambassador to Hollywood, I’ve been told this is my job. So you, my friend, have got to be there with me. Might help keep him under control. Please.”

Charlie wasn’t sure when he and Lawford had become friends. “There?” asked Charlie. “Where? And when? Not tonight. I’m not going anywhere near a blotto Frank bearing bad news.”