I turned to Sacha. “Don’t use the hot tub.”

She sniffed. “Like I’d get into that same water after them.”

“Could you stay here and keep anybody else from getting in? I have to find Tony.”

I hurried off downhill. I suppose I could have told them myself, but it was too late anyway. Tony could be the one to tell them they’d been soaking, or rather, stewing, in a broth of poison oak.

Ken and the girls were medevacked to Sacramento for emergency cortisone shots and topical ointments, effectively ending their stay at the conference. The hubbub surrounding this made Doug’s arrival, half an hour later, just one more in a series of cascading events. Tony came out to greet him. Once word got around, a crowd gathered, and there were plenty of eager volunteers to carry Doug’s boxes of books and his suitcases.

Since Compass Points was a San Francisco production, because Doug knew so many of the people here, and because he sometimes did publish first-time authors as well as big names, he was an especially exciting guest. I never knew what to expect from Doug, never knew if I was in or out of his good graces. It seemed to depend on circumstances beyond my control, some agenda of his own.

You could believe in the importance of poetry, of art in general, its uplifting and essential qualities, and still disapprove of some of the grubbier behavior associated with it.

“Carla!” Doug spotted me while I was attempting to be an inconspicuous extra in the crowd. He was either delighted to see me or making the most of the moment to pile it on. “How are you, girlfriend? You have to see your beautiful new issue, I just got the copies. It’s a knockout!”

“I’m so glad.” For everybody watching, I guess my status shot up.

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

I said he was giving me way too much credit. (And really, if I had been so valuable, he should have paid me.) As always, I found myself eyeing what Doug wore. His shirt had a print of green palm trees, making it, technically, a Hawaiian shirt, but a discreetly patterned and well-behaved one, in heavy weight linen, and his pants were something resembling khaki, but slim and tailored. Once I figured out who I wanted to be, I was going to have to start spending some serious money on clothes.

“We’ll have to sit down and have us a talk and catch up. Promise me.”

“Promise,” I said, thinking I would avoid it if at all possible. Meanwhile, the assembled conference members were looking at me like they wondered what my superpower was, or if perhaps I was sleeping with, if not Doug, then with someone else of power and influence.