“Does anyone have a flashlight?”

“You animals tore my skirt! Don’t you know this is Dior?”

“I’m calling my lawyer. You can’t just go around telling people they can have things for free and then shutting the lights off! We live in a society!”

“I think it’s thrilling … all of us here, in our finery, in total darkness. Why, almost anything could happen. …”

“Has anyone seen the Duchess?”

I heard someone hit a switch. The ballroom’s central chandelier burst to life, flooding the room and illuminating Bess standing in the middle of the ballroom in her silver gown. She held a cake platter above her head. On it was a small, scrumptious-looking red velvet layer cake, molded in the shape of a heart.

Above her, Sven Svenstein, his lanky frame squeezed into a silver-spangled leotard, dangled by one ankle from the chandelier on a wide pink ribbon. So I hadn’t imagined that hidden bow. Sven must’ve prepared that early in the night while everyone was still arriving and the ballroom was empty. He was craftier than I’d given him credit for. And he knew his way around the Duchess’s mansion. But how?

The Duchess’s throne was empty, and there was no sign of her among the guests.

“Transformation! Revolution!” Sven bellowed.

With one arm, he held a shiny bugle to his lips. He took a deep breath and blew an earsplitting note. The guests in the hallway, curious to see what was going on, began filing past George and me in the doorway and back into the ballroom.

Below Sven, Bess lowered the platter and carved a bite of cake with a miniature gold fork. She had always prided herself on her impeccable manners. She lifted the fork to her lips. Even now, with everyone’s eyes on her, Bess ate gracefully. The guests fell silent as Bess chewed daintily and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. She didn’t even smudge her lip gloss. Between bites, she twirled her fork with an elegant flick of the wrist. The Duchess’s guests murmured, some people admiring Bess’s artistry, others confused by the demonstration. A few people even applauded, cheering Bess on.

I was fascinated by the crowd’s reaction. Here was my friend, whom I’d known all my life, suddenly the center of attention, a performer. The big-city guests didn’t seem angry at the interruption. In fact, most of them seemed amused. As the performance went on, people started to giggle, then titter. One onlooker doubled over with laughter, gasping, “Eat your heart out!” The River Heights citizens looked a little shell-shocked. I could understand that reaction much better than the laughter. The first evening at the Duchess’s in a decade, and already we’d had enough excitement to last us another ten years!

“Bess is a star,” George whispered. I nodded. She was a star, no doubt about it. The silver threads of her dress glimmered in the light. The audience was captivated. How long did a performance have to last? And how did you know it was over?