“Nothing.” I finished the champagne and rolled on my back in the sand. The coupe fell away from my fingers. How black the sky was, how profuse the stars. That was the first thing that gave me hope, after I left New York City in the company of Mr. Randolph. Staring out the window of a Nacogdoches boardinghouse, a little the worse for wear, a little battered about, a little blue in body and spirit, and there it was: the Milky Way. I’ll be damned.

Thorpe tried again. “When you said envelopes—”

“I said nothing.” I zipped my lips. “You heard nothing, all right? Just a girl in her cups, talking nonsense.”

“All right.”

“Tell me some nonsense, Thorpe. Tell me some beautiful nonsense. Tell me a fairy tale about a girl and a boy, and the boy loved the girl so much, he brought her champagne and kept her company and listened to her nonsense—”

“Lulu—”

“—and at the end of the evening, he took her home and gave her a kiss, that’s all, nothing more, just a dear little . . . a dear little kiss . . . the way they kiss in fairy tales . . .”

“But not in real life.”

“No. In real life, the boy wants more than just a little kiss.”

We lay together, staring at the stars. Listening to the distant party, the brittle noise of human ecstasy. The sand was still warm. My head swam. After a minute or two, our fingertips found each other, I don’t know how, whether we were both searching or just me. Or him. Only the tips, you know, so that the fingers wove together up to the middle joint and no further. We said nothing about this. My dress covered the entire encounter, so that it might not be happening at all. Except it was.

“Mrs. Randolph—”

“Lulu.”

“Lulu. Shall I take you home?”

“Yes, please.”

He helped me into the sidecar of his motorcycle, which was parked nearby, and together we headed west along the empty road. The rush of cool air sobered me, so that by the time we reached my little bungalow, ten minutes later, I was able to climb convincingly out of the contraption and stand before him and say, “That was all nonsense back there, wasn’t it?”

“If you say so.”

“Except you can still call me Lulu. I meant that part.”

“Lulu.” He touched my cheek, my hair. His hand fell back to his side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well, if you need anything,” he said gravely, “just ask.”