We pulled in front of her building, and the driver came around to open the door. We both got out, and I walked her up. She fumbled for her key and, finally finding it, opened the door and leaned against the frame. “I’d offer you a nightcap, but I think all I have is milk and Tang.”

I laughed and shook my head. “I need to get home and crash. But thank you anyway.”

“Thank you again, Jack,” she said. It struck me then how sincere she was. Guileless. I didn’t know guileless women still existed. I took a chance and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Grace. Sleep well.”

“You too. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I was halfway to the stairs and her door was half closed when I blurted out, “Can I call you?” The door creaked as it opened again, and she giggled. I tried to sound wounded. “What’s that for?”

“I’m sorry. It was just so cute and old-fashioned.” She composed her features and smiled. “You most certainly may call me.”

I didn’t end up sleeping on the way home. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

GRACE

THE PHONE WAS RINGING. Half-asleep, I groped along the nightstand, feeling for the cordless. “Hello?”

“Its 11:10, Grace, I can’t believe you’re still sleeping!”

“I didn’t get to sleep till, like, after 2:00.”

Missy huffed. “Well, Joy and I did breakfast to pass the time while we waited for you to call, but we couldn’t wait anymore. You have to tell us everything, preferably right now.”

I rolled onto my back and stretched, slowly opening my eyes to the assaulting sun streaming between the blinds. “You guys can come over if you want and cook me breakfast.”

She laughed and relayed this to Joy, whose laughter could be heard in the background. “Got pancake mix and milk?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re on our way.”

I hung up and dropped the phone to the floor beside the bed. It would take them at least ten minutes to get here, so I allowed myself a few more moments of warmth beneath the covers. I thought back to the party, to the premiere, to the kiss on the cheek, and to Jack’s parting comment. Did he really want to call me? No, he was just pulling your chain because he’s a jerk. It was just hard to believe. The vast majority of the women I’d seen last night were ten times more beautiful than I, and more eloquent and interesting. And most were definitely interested in Jack; you could tell by the way they stared at him when they talked or the way they found reasons to touch him. How did people stay sane in that industry?