“‘As Time Goes By’ is my favorite song,” I said, “from my favorite movie, Casablanca.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You never heard of Casablanca! Why, that’s like . . .” But I could think of no equivalent.

“Well, I heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.”

“You don’t know what you’ve missed.”

In reply, he gave a light laugh and pulled me closer. “Maybe you’ll have to show me what I’ve missed.”

“Maybe I will.”

“What’s that cologne you’re wearing. It’s . . .”

“Panache, and you have to have panache to wear it.”

He gave a slight laugh, and a twirl, and when the vocalist lingered over the last few lyrics, he laid me back in his arms, and I let myself trust him.

Jaylene bowed her head and accepted her applause with the same aplomb that Cleopatra might have shown to a throng of unworthy Romans.

We returned to our table, and Jaylene descended on us in a cloud of Arpège. She lifted one of Terrence’s cigarettes and lit up. She blew the smoke in my direction, giving me a long, hard assessment.

“Jaylene Henderson,” said Terrence, “this is Roxanne Granville and Jonathan Moore. Jaylene and I went to Jefferson High School together.”

I nodded. I couldn’t imagine this woman as a high school girl.

“And the church choir,” she added, giving Jonathan a flicker of interest, which he reciprocated. “I was a soloist.”

“I was never that good,” Terrence admitted.

“He was good at other things.” She exhaled knowingly, then added, “He was in the top five in typing class. Fast, but not accurate.” An admiring white man came up and asked if he could buy her a drink, and she drifted away on his arm.

We stayed so late that Clayton and his friends had all left, and other musicians were coming in and setting up for an after-hours jam session. Booker played his last set and joined our table. Jonathan swooped up the last tab and paid it with a fat tip. We five exited the club, Booker and Diana in the lead, his arm over her shoulders. We had no sooner stepped out on the street than we were swarmed by photographers, shouting and blinding us with flashbulbs.

“There she is! Get her! Get her, boys! Get ’em together! That’s right! Hey, Diana! Kiss him, Diana! Let’s see you—”