“What? No. Who do you think I am? Mark?” She’d seen that look in his eyes, but Zanne saw the job for what it was. No other job was going to pay her this much, enough to buy a house and pay off her loans. No one but Ted would’ve bet on someone like her, an ex-junkie, a dyke. So, sure, she would protect him. She needed this job. Her livelihood depended on it.

“I get it,” James said. “I probably felt like that once. Long fucking time ago. Until I realized how it was gonna be. People don’t look at me or Phoebe the way they look at him. They don’t want to give us second chances. When I could still play football, they talked about endorsement deals, media training, a broadcasting career, you name it. After I got injured, they forgot about me real fast. Now they think all I’m good for is driving the car. Phoebe produced two of the highest-grossing films of all time, and nobody thought to ask why she walked away?”

Dylan was standing outside the visitor’s cottage when they arrived. “Hey, guys,” he said, but it was Zanne he was looking at, proving the point that even when James was standing right there, he was still invisible. “Sorry to bring you down here. She’s inside.”

Zanne opened the door. “After you,” she said to James.

Phoebe Lee turned—beachy hair, dressed for the party in soft, diaphanous pink—and Zanne could see why a bunch of teamsters had been so intimidated by her. Even in that gown, she had a presence, a steely core, that reorganized the energy in the room. Britney was sorting mail more quickly than Zanne had ever seen her work.

Tom smiled broadly. “Can I get anyone anything?” He’d worked for Sunset Magazine before coming here and often complained that his skills weren’t being maximized. Now here he was making everything beautiful for Phoebe, floating a blossom in a bowl of water on the end table, offering her a glass of sparkling water with an orange rind cut into the shape of a rose and perched on the rim of the glass.

And to think, Phoebe had once been in love with Ted! Was she still? Zanne felt a new respect for Ted. She tried to imagine a younger version of him that was somehow less babyish than he was now, hungrier, magnetic.

Zanne knew she shouldn’t let Phoebe up to the main property. The answer, when James asked if they could squeeze her in, should clearly have been a swift and resounding no.