“We probably should head downstairs and meet our guest of honor,” White said. “Not to mention we need to show the Krims some love.” He turned to Margaret. “You really should meet Mathilde Krim. She does cancer research at Cornell. Very impressive woman.” Kennedy and White began walking to the door.

“Before you go,” Charlie said, “I have to ask…”

Kennedy put his hands on his hips, irritated in anticipation. “Yes?”

“Are you just going to abandon Sinatra?” Charlie asked. “You and your brother? After all he did for you?”

“Abandon?” Kennedy asked.

“You treat him worse than you treat Marilyn,” Margaret said.

“He’ll be fine,” White said.

“You didn’t even invite him to this birthday party!” Charlie said.

“He’s a big boy,” White said.

“What’s he going to do?” asked Kennedy. “Become a Republican?” He chuckled; it became a snort. The concept was completely alien. “Endorse Goldwater?”

“Join Ronnie Reagan’s crusades against socialized medicine?” White added, joining in the laughter. Kennedy patted his arm and the two walked out of the room giggling. “We’ll see you downstairs,” White said as he exited. Then he quickly returned: “Obviously, nothing we discussed here leaves this room.” He emphasized the point with a grave expression, then left again.

Winston looked at his son and daughter-in-law. He was in better spirits than Charlie had seen him in years.

“I’m going to mingle,” he said. “Maybe Miss Monroe needs a dance partner. I haven’t had any fun in months!” Winston chuckled, knocked back his drink, and practically bounded out of the room and down the stairs.

Charlie put his arm around his wife. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “How do you feel about giving the dirt from Tarantula’s vault to those barracudas?”

“Fine,” he said. “I feel even better that we kept copies for ourselves for insurance purposes.” He held her tight. “And speaking of insurance,” he added, subtly caressing her under her bra, where there was a microphone and wire leading to a small device on her lower back. “Testing, one, two.”

“I sure hope Isaiah got all that out in the van,” Margaret said. “Thank God he’s more technologically savvy than us.”

“You hearing all this, Isaiah?” Charlie said, knowing his friend wasn’t able to respond.

Charlie looked at his gorgeous, brilliant wife and smiled. She kissed him tenderly on the lips. He grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers as they left the room and began walking down the stairs.

“What’s up?” he asked Margaret, repeating Dwight’s morning ritual.

“My sense that this is all finally over,” she said.

“What’s down?” he asked.

“My anxiety,” she said.

“What’s right?” he asked.

“Very little in this world,” she said, “but we can keep trying.”

“What’s left?” he asked.

“For us to go home,” she said.

And so they did.

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