Charlie looked at Fontaine, who shrugged, and they entered the East Wing Meeting Room. Fontaine walked ahead while Charlie whispered to Leigh.

Beyond the bartenders and cocktail waitresses, three stocked bars lined the walls, their shiny bottles arranged in neat rows. Charlie felt a twinge of—what? Love? Nostalgia? Regret? He wasn’t sure. He changed his focus, examining the ice sculpture looming over a buffet of delicacies. It was even more impressive than advertised, a detailed rendering of Richard Beymer as Tony lurching and stabbing George Chakiris as Bernardo. A knife fight. Charlie recalled another knife fight on the banks of the faux Missouri river and that bilious taste in his mouth when it ended.

“Well, that’s sure weird,” said Leigh of the sculpture. She turned to Charlie. “Champagne?”

Charlie smiled, unsure. Fontaine grabbed her shoulder. “Why don’t I escort Miss Leigh to the champagne while you admire the melting artwork?” Fontaine said. He steered Leigh away.

Charlie stepped closer to the ice sculpture, bent down to tie his shoe, placed the papers on the ground, and pushed them under the folds of the tablecloth. He stood and watched Leigh accepting a flute of bubbly from the bartender. Fontaine winked at him as they walked back to Charlie.

After a few minutes of conversation, Fontaine observed it was probably time to head back to their seats, so they did. Leigh lagged behind, chatting with a cocktail waitress, sipping her champagne.

A young woman in a caramel gown with a pink rose corsage on her wrist was sitting in Charlie’s seat on the aisle. Upon seeing Charlie, she stood immediately. He was surprised but he eased back into his seat.

“She’s a seat-filler,” Margaret whispered to him. “That’s apparently a profession in this town. She and a whole bunch of other young people—all of them with pink roses as corsages or boutonnières—run around and make sure no chairs are empty should the cameras pan this way.”

Onstage, Hope began mocking George C. Scott, a Best Supporting Actor nominee for The Hustler, for not showing up to the awards ceremony, which Scott had called “a weird beauty or personality contest” that corrupted the craft of acting. “He’s sitting at home with his back to the set,” Hope said. “He’s the one person in our audience who will come back into the room for the commercials.”

“Manny came back a minute later.” Janet Leigh had suddenly appeared at Charlie’s side and was whispering in his ear. “He grabbed the file. I followed him down the hall. He was with a man I didn’t recognize. Also in a tux.”

Charlie looked up at her. “Thanks,” he said. Leigh smiled, waved at Margaret, and returned to her seat.