Inside, the place was even more stunning than the outside. With an über-rich producer type like Brian Robinson, I had been expecting his home to be some sort of McMansion, with a Tuscan-inspired stucco exterior, a screening room, and a five-car garage. But this house was a showplace, an original Neutra, impeccably restored, with walls of glass that opened onto the backyard. The party was already at full throb. The first person we saw was Drew Barrymore, walking around with no shoes, kissing everyone hello on the lips.

“Troy . . . my boy!” I heard a female voice exclaim. This was Mrs. Robinson. I recognized her from pics in In Style magazine, taken at fabulous parties a lot like this one. As she approached, I thought she was so anorexic and so tan she looked like a walking X-ray. She threw her stick arms around Troy and kissed him hard.

Troy pulled back a little. “Miranda, looking as beautiful as ever. Brian is a lucky fuck.”

“You flirt. I’m telling.” She kept her arms wrapped around his neck and she wasn’t letting go.

Troy suddenly remembered I was there. “Let me introduce Dani. Miranda, this is Dani Hale.”

“Oh, hello!” She limply took my hand. “Welcome, welcome. I don’t know where Brian is but I’m sure you’ll be able to find him. Everybody is here.” She winked over Troy’s shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, Dani, you’ll be fine.”

I guess I didn’t look fine. I tightly smiled back at the missus and we endured an awkward silence. Then something behind me caught her attention. We turned to see a girl who was around eight, dressed from head to toe in Missoni. She was straining to carry a tray loaded with canapés.

“Isn’t she darling? We always like to get the children involved any way we can, and she begged to be able to pass out the hors d’oeuvres. Lily, hold the tray flat—you don’t want to spill any on Mommy’s new floors.”

With a scared look in our direction, Lily snapped to attention and steadied herself and the plate.

Miranda’s hands were constantly in motion fluttering around as she talked. It could have been the edge from diet pills, but I suspected she was trying to draw attention to her fabulous jewelry. Her ring finger glimmered with a six-carat canary diamond, and stacks and stacks of microdiamond bangles adorned her wrists. I recognized them from the window of Martin Katz on Burton Way.