But then I was like, fuck it, and answered all of them. Told them how I’ve written about half my songs at Zuma Beach. The white noise of the ocean is the perfect backdrop when I’m thinking up lyrics, and that the concept of sand gives me endless inspiration. The billions of crushed shells and rock. Told them actually I loved playing at Red Rocks here in Colorado. I drink a lot of hot water with lemon and honey. I’m the master of the fifteen-second quick change. And then, unbelievably, I talked about Liam. Found myself explaining how, at the end of it, we were just different. Our takes on the world weren’t compatible in the long run. I wasn’t able to express myself without feeling like he was judging me. That he thought he saw the world had a right way and anyone that challenged it was foolish. It was only through saying the words that I actually figured that out for myself. I’d never be with someone who actually thought they understood what life was. Wasn’t it all just this wild, unpredictable journey?

Then Claudine and Henry came back and people got quiet again. She started the game back up straightaway, and everyone drifted away from me like we hadn’t been talking at all. Back to their seats.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked me. Before I thought he was cute, but now he was really handsome. Straight teeth but crooked smile. Fucking charming. Suddenly I realized I hadn’t thought that about anybody since Liam broke up with me. Another huge breakthrough. Even if I left Aspen without buying a house, the trip would be a success.

Then Henry came over to the bar. Automatically the bartender poured a club soda into a rocks glass, garnished it with lime and handed it to him. Henry had been drinking them all night. I had figured they were gin and tonics.

“No more mocktails,” he said. “I’m going to need something a little harder.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the bartender said. “The hostess said to only serve you nonalcoholic beverages. Her orders were strict.”

“They always are,” Henry said. “Tell you what. You don’t have to serve me. I’ll serve myself.”

Henry stepped behind the bar. He put ice in the shaker, followed by vermouth and bitters. Then he gave himself a generous pour of whiskey and started shaking. Hard. I mean, in all of history ice cubes were never shaken with such force, so much purpose and determination. The bartender and I looked at each other like, What is going on here? It was like he was trying to start nuclear fusion.