As she turned, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roland grab Kinley’s arm, glaring down at the smaller woman and jerking her roughly. Angel could hear their furious whispers, until she moved far enough away.

Asshole. He’d seemed so nice earlier, kind to his wife and mingling with the guests. The newspapers touted him as a sweetheart, one of those players everyone loved. She was disappointed to witness the truth behind the legend.

Gabriela answered the phone on the first ring. She and Jose were eating popcorn and watching The Bachelor.

“You have got to be kidding me, Gabriela. First of all, he better have his homework done, and second of all, what?”

Her Dominican neighbor chuckled. “Girl, go have fun. Jose is learning about women.”

In the background, she heard the seven-year-old ask, “Are those spiders on her eyes? And how come she keeps crying? I thought she knew it was a game. I’d hate to play Sorry with her.”

“See?” Gabriela said to Angel. “He loves it. How’s it goin’ with you? Who’s the most famous person you’ve talked to? How’s your hair holdin’ up?”

She talked with them for a minute, telling Jose to be good and get to bed soon, then hung up. As she did, a text message flashed onto her screen.

This is Dr. Collins. Can you come in tomorrow? We need to talk.

The message disturbed her. He must have gone into her records to find her number. What could he possibly want, especially at this time of night? She considered texting him back, but decided she’d rather live with the mystery. Whatever it was, it could wait until tomorrow. She was not in the mood for his overt sexual harassment. If he thought she was around, he’d probably start sexting her.

She gave her phone to old Steven for safekeeping. Then she squared her shoulders, took a sip of her drink, and reentered the fray. Duke waved her over to where he was, at the bar. The bartender was lining up shots of tequila. Kinley was with him, but Roland had disappeared.

“Did you happen to see my husband?” she asked Angel, throwing back a shot. There were red fingerprints on her forearm.

Angel shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything.

Kinley ground her teeth. “That bastard better hide.” She threw back another shot of tequila, then removed a small glass tube from between her breasts. “You want a bump?” The hostess tapped a line of coke along the top of her closed fist and sniffed.

Angel blinked. The TV star had just made a series of public service commercials about drug abuse. The money from her appearances probably paid for the powder.

“Come on, Kinley,” said Duke. “You know I don’t party like that no more. Besides, I get drug tested next week. You tryin’ to get me in trouble?”