KATE

TO UNDERSTAND THE INAPPROPRIATENESS OF WHAT TIM THEN DID, ONE HAS TO fully appreciate fine wine.

When Philip Ashworth announced he was opening a bottle of ’59 Romanée-Conti Richebourg, Penelope Winston, the ex-supermodel/ linguist, turned to me and whispered, “It’s a monster wine. Simply devastating. Had it once in Venice. Said to be one of the best burgundies you’ll ever taste.”

Philip Ashworth swilled it, sipped, and said, “Disappointing.”

“Oh, come on, Philip,” Wally Walker, the crown prince of publishing and Philip’s roommate from Yale, called from across the room, cigar in hand. He insisted on tasting it. He took his turn, lightly smacked his lips, and said, “It seems tight to me. But just a little.”

Against the objections of the other guests, Philip had the bottle taken away. He sent for two different bordeaux, and when the cater-waiter returned, Philip announced a ’61 Haut-Brion and a ’66 Le Pin and said, “We’ll taste them against each other.”

Wally Walker moaned in anticipation and said, “This is why we love you, Philip.”

I knew enough about wine to know that these were fantastic, once-in-a-lifetime wines. And as the wine goblets were filled to tasting depth, a large glass of orange juice was carried by another caterer on a tray and presented to my ridiculously underdressed nondrinker of a husband, which was bad enough, but then he joked, “And what year were these oranges squeezed?”

No one was amused. Tim gave out a high-pitched honk of a laugh, and I joined the others in ignoring him.

Anna Brody sat across the room in the bay window, near the crackling fire, blowing her cigarette smoke toward the chimney. I didn’t know she smoked. On careful study, I saw that she didn’t inhale. She was a social smoker. And the way she did it—the slow draw, the grand exhale into the updraft—made me wish I was smoking, too.

Philip very much wanted to know our thoughts.

Rene Scarlata, the bone-thin coloratura and consort of Dante Calibrini, the venture capitalist, favored the Haut-Brion. “But I could go the other way just as easily,” she said. The men—Lancaster Group CEO Benjamin Wirtz, a banker from Hong Kong named Wai Jen, and Goldman-Sachs asset allocation genius Walter Clyde—all championed the ’66 Le Pin.

Taking in the room, I realized that these were all Philip’s friends. We’d been invited to be Anna’s.

Turning to me, Philip said, “Kate, which do you prefer?”

I looked around the room. All eyes were on me. “Which do I prefer?”

Everyone was waiting for my answer.

In one of the articles I had read on Louis Underfer, he’d been asked, “What is the key to a successful person?” His answer: “The ability to make a choice and, if it’s wrong, then make another.”

I felt blood rush to my face. Make a choice.

I am, by nature, not a person who seeks the spotlight. But something about that room, those guests, and such fine wine made me want to stretch this moment, make it last.