“Likely story,” Rosemary said. She took the condoms from Gerald and put the box on the top shelf of the medicine chest. There were several bottles of prescription pills in there, but all of them were safely out of even Gerald’s reach. As she was closing the cabinet, she noticed one on the bottom shelf. She read the label as she moved it to higher ground: Valium. It had been years since she’d felt the sweet leveling of Valium. Everyone was taking Xanax these days, a more sophisticated but less satisfying drug. There were only about three pills left in the bottle. She casually slipped it into the pocket of her sweater.

“I saw that!” Gerald said.

She sighed and turned to him. “Yes? And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to tell.”

“Please do,” she said.

But as she was leaving the bathroom, she thought better of her actions. She went back, opened the medicine chest and handed Gerald the box of condoms. “Just don’t say anything until I’ve left the building.”

One feature of the party she hadn’t guessed at was that the hosts would have the nerve to use Pauline Anderton for background music. Throughout the night, her voice had been braying in the distance, as appropriate for atmosphere as a construction worker with a jackhammer. When she stepped out of the bedroom, she heard a surprisingly calm and subtle version of “The Man I Love” oozing out of the speakers in the next room. Guitar and piano and maybe a cello somewhere behind them. Someday he’ll come aloooong. Tears started to well up behind Rosemary’s eyes. That raspy, awful, honest voice was touching a raw nerve. She absolutely would not cry in public.

She made it to the entryway of the apartment in one piece, but Anderton was barely through the first verse, and the thing was getting more emotional every second. She buttoned her sweater and grabbed the doorknob.

“Leaving so soon?”

It was one of the hosts, the willowy one with the pretty skin and the cheekbones, the one who’d obviously had some work done around his eyes. Velan, Vegan—something along those lines.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Tomorrow’s a school day.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, darling.”

“I teach Sunday school. Darling.” But no, she wasn’t going to leave on a bitter note. “I had a wonderful time. Thank Paul for me.”

“Peter.”

“Him too.”

He opened the door for her and leaned in the doorway, watching as she walked down the hall. “May I tell you something?”

She stopped. “What is it?”

“You have got gorgeous legs.”

If she turned around and looked right at him, she really was going to burst into tears. “Thank you,” she said.