“Do you miss it a lot?” Mallory inquired when the waiter left.

Lilly didn’t have to ask what Mallory meant, and she shrugged. “When Craig was sick, caring for him took so much of my energy that I didn’t think about sex. Since he died, there’s been too much to do.” And I’m so fat I’d never let any man see my body.

“You’re so independent now. Two years ago you didn’t have a clue what was in your financial portfolio, let alone know how to manage it. I can’t tell you how much I admire the way you’ve taken charge.”

“I didn’t have any choice.” Craig’s financial planning had left her wealthy enough that she no longer needed work to support herself, only to give her life purpose. In the past year she’d had a small part as the sexy mother of the male star in a halfway decent movie. She’d been able to carry it off because she was a pro, but the whole time they were filming, she’d had to struggle against a sense of the ridiculous. For a woman of her size and age still to be playing sexpots, even aging ones, seemed somehow absurd.

She didn’t like having her sense of identity wrapped up in a profession for which she no longer had a passion, but acting was all she knew, and with Craig’s death she needed to keep busy or she’d think too much about the mistakes she’d made. If only she could peel away the years and go back in time to that crucial point where she’d lost her way.

The waiter returned with Mallory’s drink, the amuse-bouche, and a lengthy explanation of the menu’s many courses. After they’d made their selections, Mallory lifted her champagne flute. “To my dearest friend. Happy birthday, and I’ll kill you if you don’t love your present.”

“Gracious as always.”

Mallory laughed and pulled a flat, rectangular box from the tote she’d set at the side of her chair. The package was professionally wrapped in paisley paper tied with a burgundy bow. Lilly opened it to find an exquisite antique shawl of gold lace.

Her eyes stung with sentimental tears. “It’s beautiful. Where ever did you find it?”

“A friend of a friend who deals in rare textiles. It’s Spanish. Late nineteenth century.”

The symbolism of the lace made it hard for her to speak, but there was something she needed to say, and she reached across the table to touch her friend’s hand. “Have I ever told you how dear you are to me?”

“Ditto, sweetie. I’ve got a long memory. You held me together through my first divorce, through those awful years with Michael …”

“Don’t forget your face-lift.”

“Hey! I seem to remember a little eye job you had a few years ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They exchanged smiles. Plastic surgery might seem vain to much of the world, but it was a necessity for actresses who’d built their reputations on sex appeal. Although Lilly wondered why she’d bothered with an eye job when she couldn’t manage to lose even twenty pounds.