The twenty-five-year age difference between her husband and herself, along with Craig’s good looks and his role as her manager, had invited inevitable comparisons to Ann-Margret and Roger Smith, as well as to Bo and John Derek. And it was true that Craig had been her Svengali. When she’d arrived in L.A. over thirty years ago, she hadn’t even possessed a high school diploma, and he’d taught her how to dress, walk, and speak. He’d exposed her to culture and transformed her from an awkward teenager into one of the eighties’ hottest sex symbols. Because of Craig, she was well read and culturally literate, with a particular passion for art.

Craig had done everything for her. Too much. Sometimes she’d felt as if she’d been swallowed up by the demanding force of his personality. Even when he was dying, he’d been dictatorial. Still, he’d truly loved her, and she only wished, at the end, that she’d been able to love him more.

She distracted herself with the paintings on the restaurant’s walls. Her eyes drifted past a Julian Schnabel and a Keith Haring to take in an exquisite Liam Jenner oil. He was one of her favorite artists, and just looking at the painting calmed her.

She glanced at her watch and saw that Mallory was late as usual. During the six years they’d filmed Lace, Inc., Mallory had always been the last to arrive on the set. Normally Lilly didn’t mind, but now it gave her too much time to think about Kevin and the fact that he’d separated from his heiress wife before the ink was dry on the wedding license. The reporter said Molly Somerville had suffered a miscarriage. Lilly wondered how Kevin had felt about that, or even if the baby had been his. Famous athletes were prime targets for unscrupulous women, including rich ones.

Mallory came dashing toward the table. She was still the same size four she’d been during their days on Lace, Inc., and unlike Lilly, she’d been able to keep her career alive by becoming the queen of the mini series. Even so, Mallory didn’t have Lilly’s presence in person, and no one took note of her arrival. Lilly had nagged her about this countless times, Attitude, Mallory! Walk like you’re getting twenty mil a picture.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mallory chirped. “Happy, happy, you adorable person! Present later.”

They exchanged social kisses just as if Mallory hadn’t held Lilly in her arms more than once through the ordeal of Craig’s long illness and death two years ago.

“Do you hate me for being late for your birthday dinner?”

Lilly smiled. “I know you’ll be surprised to hear this, but after twenty years of friendship I’ve gotten used to it.”

Mallory sighed. “We’ve been together longer than either of my marriages lasted.”

“That’s because I’m nicer than your ex-husbands.”

Mallory laughed. The waiter appeared to take her drink order, then pressed them to try an amuse-bouche of ratatouille tart with goat cheese while they contemplated the menu. Lilly briefly considered the calories before she agreed to the tart. It was her birthday, after all.