I saw Viridian and Sacha enter at the back of the room and make their slow progress to the stage, stopping to talk to people along the way. Viridian wore the green dress I’d seen the first night of the conference. Someone asked her to sign a book, and she bent to do so. She looked relaxed and happy, and even if her face had softened with age, even if you could see the architecture of her collarbone more clearly now, she was still and always would be a great beauty, you would still want to look at her.

Doug and Larry stood in front of the stage talking to each other and keeping an eye on Viridian. Watching them from this angle felt like spying, even though they were out in plain view. I saw how Doug fidgeted, spinning on one heel to monitor Viridian’s progress. Larry turned his wrist ever so slightly within his shirt cuff so he could check his expensive watch. I imagine he had some late connection that would take him back to San Diego or his next stop on the never-ending tour of Artists United mergers and acquisitions.

When they all took their seats on the stage, they were only a few feet away from me, though Viridian was seated at the far end and it was more difficult for me to see her. Tony took the microphone and waited for everyone to settle down. He began by saying that Ken Spinner’s reading was unfortunately canceled. This made the crowd snigger and buzz. They were in a rowdy mood on this last night.

“But we’re really lucky to have two very famous and distinguished guests, as well as tonight’s reader, the fabulous Viridian.”

Applause. I should have been out there clapping, too. I felt bad about that part. I listened, or half listened, as Tony went on with his introductions. The many accomplishments and notable achievements of the people on stage. It might seem funny, but it actually cheered me up to hear it. You’d think that it would depress me further, you know, how exalted they were, and how miserable and lowly I was by comparison, but no. I understood now how much effort, the work of a lifetime even, went into a poem, or a magazine, or any such enterprise, how much care and doubt and stubbornness and desperation, how they had earned everything. And how I might find something of my own, some achievement or excellence, and so come in time to earn the world’s notice on my terms.