“What happened? It sounded like you threw the phone down or something, and then we got disconnected,” Ina asked.

“Sorry, I just dropped the phone . . . everything’s cool.”

“Whatever. But I still want you to come over.”

I mopped down my desk again with the damp tissue. Now my office smelled like a hospital. “Ina, you’re very sweet, but I’m okay. Actually I’m going to get a drink with Rachel from work in a bit, so you don’t have to worry.”

“You could bring Rachel to the barbecue,” Ina offered. The speakerphone made her sound like she was calling from an airplane.

“She doesn’t eat meat,” I told her distractedly, “and anyway, she’s got some stuff she says she needs a little one-on-one time with me to unload. But thanks—have a great night.”

Ina wouldn’t let me off until I promised to meet her for a late lunch the next day. I didn’t particularly want to, but I had a feeling I’d feel better on Saturday.

Even Marilyn Monroe killed herself on a Saturday night.

It was almost nine; I gathered my things from around my desk, moving to go home. The night breeze on my face felt good as I made my way out to the parking lot. My hand firmly gripped the rich buttery leather of my Balenciaga purse. All the stores in Beverly Hills had been sold out of this bag, but I’d purchased it on eBay last week. It had been a gift to myself. With the holidays on the horizon, I knew there would be more “gifts to myself”—no one else would be buying me presents. I had a vision of myself struggling to bring the Christmas tree in the house alone.

In my purse were the plastic Baggies and a copy of the confidential crew list. Once in my car, I scanned the list for Chloe’s name and address.

I saw she lived on Hollyridge, up in Beachwood Canyon, pretty close to Dave’s house. I thought of her cherry red Mercedes parked in his driveway that night—she easily could have walked there instead. I wondered what would have happened that night if I had driven by and there’d been no red Mercedes. Would Dave have come over to my place with flowers and Christmas lights? Would we have bought the combined-income house? If her car hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have had to have all the awkward dates and fix ups over these last few months.

Driving back into Hollywood, I took Franklin the short distance to Beachwood. The guidance system in my car told me when to turn left and when I would reach the address.