“Oh, Lord,” said Stella. “Anybody want a smoke?”

“What’s that?” he said. “You want the job?”

“Stella’s playing assistant?” Abe said. “I wouldn’t mind seeing this.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stella said. “Pour me another shot.”

“I’ll also need some kind of cape,” Ted said. “Or any kind of fabric.”

I leaned over to whisper in Abe’s ear: “I knew a woman who made capes.” I covered my mouth with my hand, but he smelled it. I could see his face fall. His eyes went wide. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” I said, shaking my head. “You shouldn’t worry.”

He touched my wrist, but I didn’t look up. I kept shaking my head. I kept my face down. I could feel my eyes getting wet, and I didn’t want him to see. I didn’t want to see him.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was hard. “Look at me.”

I looked at him.

“This is a problem.”

“Please don’t make a scene,” I said. “Don’t ruin this.”

“I’m not the one—” He bit his lip. “I’m not ruining anything.” He got up and walked into the kitchen. I sat perfectly still. I wasn’t sure what to do.

Ted cleared his throat and unfastened his top button. “If there’s not a cape lying around, I suppose I could use my own shirt.”

“Keep your shirt on,” said Stella. “I’ll get a dish towel.”

“My lovely assistant,” he said, gesturing in her direction.

“Can I eat one of this cake?” said Omar.

“Amen to that,” said Stan. “Where’s the knife?”

“The brownies are part of the trick!” said Ted. “Leave them alone.”

Stella came back with a pale red dish towel. She dangled it in front of Ted’s face and said: “All we need is a bull.”

Ted said: “Hold it right in front of the tray.”

She held it like a curtain. His hands fiddled behind it.

“First we had brownies,” said Ted. “Now we have…”

Stella lifted the towel.

“Brownies on fire!”

A meager blue flame licked the crust of the brownies. The tips of fire were the shade of nectarines. They died as soon as they flared. “Okay,” said Stella. “So now they’re burned.” She tossed the towel onto the table. The corner landed in the tray and caught fire immediately, bursting into a sudden rush of orange.

“Jesus Christ!” Abe cried. He fumbled in his briefcase and pulled out a bottle of water, ran across the room and poured it on the cloth. The flame hissed out. “Sorry about your brownies,” he told Ted. They were soaked. He glanced at Stella, and she burst out laughing.

“I’m really, really sorry,” she told Ted. “I’m a little drunk.”

Ted held up the rum. “I didn’t use it all,” he said, and poured another shot for everyone. They toasted being temporary—to getting out, they said—and then they toasted being drunk. I went to the kitchen sink.