Everyone greeted Walter familiarly. As Lowe was introducing Annie to the knitting woman, a girl walked heavily into the room and went up to Lowe.

“Murray—”

“Mitchel!” shouted the actor. “Lottie, please!”

“Whatever your name is—did you pick up the bread?”

“Forgot…” said Lowe, smiling warmly at Annie.

“We were speaking of Chaliapin,” remarked the small man at the piano. “Play the ‘Death and Farewell’ again, will you, Natasha?”

The woman put down her knitting and went to a record player. The pacing man had halted in front of Annie and was staring down at her. He was tall, heavily built, with white hair and black eyebrows. In the dim light of the room, Annie could see how silken his skin was, how rosy his cheeks. “Who’s this, Walter?” he asked with a trace of an accent.

“This is my Annie,” said Walter.

Natasha glided back to her chair and picked up her knitting needles. “What a young one, Walter,” she said.

“Please,” said the Chaliapin lover. “No one talk. I want to hear this.”

“I’m Gunther Wildener,” said the white-haired man, extending his hand to Annie. She shook it briefly. Lottie was looking gravely at Walter. Her eyes widened slightly. “Hello, Walt,” she said. They put their arms around each other and stood silently together. When they drew apart, Walter said, “Are you all right? Murray says he has a big job coming up.”

“Mitchel!” said the actor. “What are you, my enemies?”

Lottie looked coolly at Annie. “How are you?” she asked formally and turned away at once to her husband. “We won’t have any bread for breakfast.”

Annie felt a little stab of fear. Lottie was beautiful; Walter treated her so respectfully. But she was so cold!

They were all talking together now—they’d drawn away from her, and she was surprised when a hand took hers. It was Gunther’s. He drew her over to the long heavy drapes that hid the windows.

“What are you doing in this insane place? I assume you come from somewhere else? Everyone out here does.”

For a second she thought he meant that room they were standing in, and she looked over her shoulder at Walter who was talking animatedly to the knitter.

“Hollywood,” said Wildener. “Hollywood, I mean.”

“I’m not interested in the movies,” Annie said hastily.

“Good for you!” Wildener said, laughing. “Then what are you doing with Walter Vogel? He spends people like pennies, especially people your age.”

“We’re together.”

“You’re together?” The conversation on the other side of the room began to drown out Chaliapin.