Shelly nodded. She twirled some hair around the tip of her finger, and when she let go the hair maintained a curl. She did the same thing to two more sections of hair and then let her hands fall to the bar, tapping it twice as if to say, There. That’s done.

Anthony needed to get to Joy. By now she would have plugged his real name into Google. She’d know everything. His heart had taken up residence in his throat. His insides were churning. “Listen, Shelly,” he began, “if you came all the way here to talk about the photo shoot, I really don’t know if I can—”

“Oh, that,” she interrupted him. “That’s okay, we’ll get to that later. I mean, I really think it could be a game-changer for you, I have absolutely no doubt, but I totally get it if you’re not ready to do it right now.”

“Okay,” he said, thrown by the later. What did Shelly think they would get to before? “Yeah, I guess I’m not ready.”

“Let’s just talk,” Shelly said, as if Anthony hadn’t spoken. “For now. I’ve never really talked to you, Anthony Puckett. I mean, I’ve talked to you, about the book stuff and whatever, but we’ve never really talked. You never told me, for example”—here she paused to twist one of the many giant rings on the fingers of her left hand—“what it’s like being the son of the Leonard Puckett. The one and only.”

“Oh,” Anthony said. “Gosh.” Same question Lu had asked, but decidedly different circumstances.

“You’re so adorable, Anthony Puckett. I can’t believe you just said gosh. We’ve got to get you out in front of the public again. Now, tell me what it’s like to be a Puckett.”

“It’s . . . hard to explain, Shelly. And honestly not all that interesting.”

“Or, we don’t have to talk, you know,” Shelly said. “I have a room at the Spring House Hotel.”

Oh, God, thought Anthony. He excused himself, walked to the bathroom, and called Joy again. No answer. When he returned, Peter asked, “Another round?”

“Yes, please,” said Shelly.

“Just a seltzer,” said Anthony weakly.

“If you don’t want to go to the hotel,” said Shelly, “I could just . . .” She let one of her manicured hands fall into his lap.

Anthony could feel his skin burning. He glanced at Peter to see if he could see where Shelly’s hand was. Peter was drying glasses with one of those little bar towels and didn’t seem to notice. There was a young couple sitting at a high-top in the middle of a fight. Anthony heard the girl say, “This is just such fucking bullshit, Michael. I can’t even.” At a nearby table a group of bachelorettes were drinking frozen daiquiris and laughing. He shifted and gently lifted Shelly’s hand from his lap, placed it on top of the bar, and gulped his seltzer.

Shelly Salazar took Anthony’s hand and flipped it over so that the palm faced up. She traced the lines on his palm with her manicured finger, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply.