“Thanks!” I told him. I shot one final glance of annoyance at that know-it-all veteran seat filler before I headed into the auditorium. Glamorous and formal-clad people talked all around me; some were sitting, others standing. Lots of air kisses and handshakes as I made my way carefully through the crowd. I recognized a number of actors and actresses but remembered that I was not allowed to stop and gape at them with an open mouth.

Seats A and B in row two were both empty. I sat down in the B seat, wondering who had been sitting here before me. Shelby had mentioned that the award nominees and their dates sat on the ends of the first few rows. So probably somebody very famous.

There was a woman to my left who I almost bumped with my elbow as I removed my badge. The badge was attached to the front of my dress and said, “I’m temporarily filling this seat for camera purposes.” I hadn’t wanted to run afoul of another rule—I had to take the badge off so that it wouldn’t be seen on camera. I put it in my small clutch, which also held my cell phone, my keys, and an emergency Snickers bar.

A Snickers bar I was seriously considering eating, given that I was still hungry and still annoyed.

Since I was tempted to observe everyone around me, I stuck to staring straight ahead. Like I was wearing blinders. I figured that was safest, considering that I was the kind of woman who lived for celebrity gossip. I had subscriptions to, like, three different tabloids. Fortunately Shelby shared my obsession, and we had spent many hours of her chemo poring over trashy magazines. I’d signed a very serious and very thick nondisclosure agreement for this event, and because I was already poor, I didn’t need to make things worse by having Harmony sue me.

A man sat down next to me in seat A. I noticed that he was tall, as he was forced to turn his legs toward the aisle because he didn’t quite fit. His hands were large and he was wearing an expensive watch that somehow seemed vaguely familiar.

“You’re in the wrong seat.” His voice was deep and, again, familiar. I was tempted to glance at him, but I fought off the urge. But that meant I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or someone else. For all I knew, he might have been on his cell phone. I kept my eyes pointed toward the stage as the lights came back up and everyone hurried back to their own seats.

“The security is terrible at this venue,” he mumbled as he shifted in his seat. “This should be one of the few places where I’m safe from stalkers.”