Theo knew which one he’d rather be at, he thought, as he made his way up the ostentatious staircase, hand running along the decorative chrome handrail, the smell of new carpet barely disguised beneath the oversweet scent of lilies in vases and the heavy veil of cigarette smoke. The band played a Dizzy Gillespie number that he recognized—only twice as loud as it should have been—and the crowd was mixed: at a glance, Wall Street suits and struggling starlets, high-ranking servicemen and the usual uptown socialites. It wasn’t his scene, but he suspected that Virginia wouldn’t be disappointed. She had a lot to feast her eyes on: men lounging in plush velvet chairs, and women sipping from crystal glasses that waiters kept filled. And as he wove through the extravagantly dressed crowd toward her table, he wondered if it helped some of them to forget that there was a war on.

“Happy birthday, beautiful,” he said, sitting down and placing the gift in front of her. When he leaned close to kiss her, her delicate lips responded, bittersweet with alcohol and lipstick. He sat back and smiled, staring into her dark eyes, then noticed her teasing half smile and the rosy gleam on her cheeks. “What’re you having?”

It was too noisy to hear her reply, the saxophone taking over the room as it reached its outro, the musician twisting and bending as he hugged his instrument.

“C-o-s-m-o-p-o-l-i-t-a-n,” she mouthed slowly, then moved her lips close to his. “But I’ll have another one of those first.”

He turned so their lips brushed, and they kissed again. “How’s my birthday girl? Has it been a good day?”

“It’s been a wonderful day,” she replied brightly.

“Well, we’d better make sure it’s a wonderful evening then too.”

“There’s just one tiny hitch . . .”

It was unlike her to spring surprises.

“Do I need to order a drink?” he asked.

“Yes, I think you’d better,” she said, anxiously tucking strands of her ebony hair behind her ears.

Theo waved the waiter over, ordered another cosmopolitan and a Scotch, then pushed the present toward her. “Are you going to open it?”

“As long as I don’t have to give it back?”

“Oh, it’s that bad?”

Virginia grimaced then tore open the paper, her face lighting up when she saw the title, The Moon Is Down. “It’s wonderful! Thank you.”

“It’s autographed,” he said, as he stretched his long limbs out in the booth.

She opened the cover and read the inscription on the title page.