"This is your dressing room, Miss Harper. If you want to change or lie down. Whatever. When you're ready, just press the buzzer and I'll take you down to the Red Room." You will? You promise? But do I gotta? Kate liked the pink room. Who needed the Red Room?

"Thank you." They were the only two words she could think of. She was too busy being overwhelmed. And when she stepped inside and the door closed, she noticed a delicate bouquet of pink roses and baby's breath, with a little card. She walked over to it, wondering if the flowers were for someone else. Surely someone more important But her name was on the envelope. She opened it with curiosity and trembling fingers. Stu maybe?

But they weren't from Stu. They were from Nick. "Don't forget the dog and the weather. Nick." She laughed at the card, and sat down and looked around the room. She had nothing to do there, except gape. She felt the shawl fall away from her shoulders as she sat in one of the large comfortable chairs and let it swallow her. And then, nervously, she jumped up and looked in the full-length mirror. Did she look all right? Was the dress awful? Was she ... did she ... should she ... there was a soft knock which interrupted her glaring at herself in sheer panic "Kate?" It was a man's voice, a deep one, and she suddenly smiled. She wasn't alone after all. She pulled open the door, and there he was, tall and smiling. Nicholas Waterman. He was even taller than she had remembered from lunch, but his eyes were just as she had left them, warm and kind, the eyes of a friend. "How're you doing?"

"I'm a wreck." She beckoned him inside and shut the door like a fellow conspirator, and then she remembered the roses. "Thank you for the flowers. How do I look?" Everything was coming out staccato and b.u.mpy and she wanted to lie facedown on the floor and hide. "Oh, I can't stand it." She sank onto the couch and almost groaned. Nick laughed.

"You look beautiful. And you're fine. Just remember. The dog and the weather. Right?"

"Oh shut up." But then she noticed him looking at her and squinting. "What is it?"

"Take your hair down."

"Now? I'll never get it back up." She looked horrified.

"That's the whole point, silly. Come on. That dress needs long hair." He sat back on the couch next to her and waited, as she looked at him with an astonished grin.

"Do you do this with everybody who comes on the show?" What a disappointing thought. She hoped he didn't.

"Of course not. But not everybody comes on this show on the strength of her dog and the weather."

"Will you stop that!" She was grinning broadly now. And she had just decided again that she loved his eyes.

"Take your hair down." He looked like a big brother trying to teach her a new sport. She was going to resist, but she decided to let herself be persuaded.

"Okay. But I'll look a mess."

"You wouldn't know how to."

"You're crazy."

It was bathroom patter. He shaves while she dries. She combs her hair while he does his tie. She looked at him with a smile as her hair cascaded past her shoulders in soft, loose, gentle waves. He grinned. He had been right.

"Some mess, gorgeous one. Take a look in the mirror."

She did, and frowned uncertainly. "I look like I just woke up." There was something he wanted to say to her, but he didn't say it. He just smiled.

"You look perfect. And you have just sold your book to half the men in America. The other half are either too old or too young. But if they're awake for the show, Kate-you've sold 'em."

"You like it like this?"

"I love it." And he loved the dress. She looked exquisite. Tall and delicate, elegant and s.e.xy. There was a kind of nave glamour about her. She didn't know it, but she was the kind of woman men were going to crawl over each other to get to. It was the subtlety, the hint of shyness behind the humor, the reserve mixed in with the mischief. Without thinking, he took her by the hand. "Ready?" She had to pee, but she couldn't tell him. She just nodded, with a smile.

"Ready." She was so breathless she could hardly say it.

"Then on to the Red Room."

There was champagne there, and coffee. There were sandwiches, and a plate of pte de foie gras. There were magazines, aspirins, and a.s.sorted other remedies for minor ills, including several rather ferocious hangover remedies. And there were faces Kate had never expected to be in the same room with. A journalist from New York, a comedian she had heard of all her life, who had just flown in from Las Vegas to do the show, a major singing star, an actress, and a man who had spent four years in Africa writing a book about zebras. She had heard of them all, seen them all. There were no unknowns there. And then she grinned to herself. She was the unknown.

Nick introduced her to everyone and handed her the ginger ale she had asked for. At exactly a quarter to seven he left the room. The zebra man was sitting across from her, making inane conversation in his almost unintelligible Etonian accent, and the female singing star was looking Kate over.

"Looks like the producer's got the hots for you, darling. Old flame or new one? Is that how you got on the show?" She filed a clawlike crimson nail and then grinned over at the actress, who was her friend. There was a new face in town and they didn't like it. Kate smiled at them, wis.h.i.+ng she were dead. What the h.e.l.l did you say? f.u.c.k off? May I have your autograph? She continued to smile inanely and crossed her legs, wondering if they could see her knees shake. And then the comedian and the journalist saved her, as though they had been dropped from the sky just for that purpose. The journalist insisted that he needed her help with the pte, and the comedian immediately pelted her with funny remarks, and the three of them wound up together for the duration, on the other side of the room, while the other two women seethed. But Kate didn't notice. She was too nervous, and too busy chatting. Nick had been right; every man in the room would have given his right arm to go home with her. But Kate was too worried about the show to notice the effect she was having on them.

"What's it like?"

"Like falling into a bed of marshmallows." The comedian looked at her with a smile. "Want to try that sometime?" She laughed at him and sipped her ginger ale. Oh Jesus, what if it made her burp? She put it down, and squeezed the paper napkin with her damp hands, "Don't worry, baby. You're gonna love it." The comedian whispered it to her gently with a warm smile. He was old enough to be her father but she could feel his hand on her knee. She wasn't sure if she was going to love it or not. And then suddenly, it was air time. A sudden current of electricity seemed to pa.s.s around the room, and everyone fell silent.

The singing star went on first. She did two songs, and left after five minutes of chatting with Jasper, who was "enormously grateful that she could stop by, and knew she had a special to tape." Kate was enormously grateful when she left five minutes later. The journalist was next, and was surprisingly amusing. He was almost a regular on the show. Then the actress. The comedian. And then ... oh my G.o.d ... no! Only she and the zebra man were left, and the man at the door with the earphones on his head was beckoning to Kate. Me? Now? But I can't. But she had to.

It felt like walking into a jet stream, or off a cliff. She was numb. She couldn't hear what he was saying. And worse yet, she couldn't hear herself. She wanted to scream as she sat there, but she didn't. She heard herself laughing, chatting, admitting to the appalling outfits she wore when she wrote, talking about her feelings about living in the country. Jasper's boyhood had been spent in a place that he said was much like the place she described. They talked about writing, and the discipline of the profession, and even about how funny it was to come to L.A. She found herself cracking jokes about the women she'd seen around the pool, and the droopy-a.s.sed old men squashed into their jeans and body s.h.i.+rts with their dangling doodads of gold around their necks. She almost made an outrageous allusion and then backed off, which made it even funnier, because the audience caught the allusion without her having to say it. She was fabulous and she was Kate. And somewhere out there, in the lights and electric lines and confusion and cameras, was Nick, making victory signs and grinning at her with pride. She had done it! And then there was the zebra man, and by then Kate was right at home, laughing and loving it, part of the jokes and the conversation. The journalist and the comedian kept aiming good lines at her, and she and Jasper looked as though they'd been dancing together for years. It was one of those shows that jelled from beginning to end, and Kate was the diamond in the night's tiara. She was still flying high when they went off the air, and Jasper kissed her on both cheeks.

"You were marvelous, my dear. I hope we see you again."

"Thank you! Oh it was wonderful! And it was so easy!" She was blus.h.i.+ng and breathless and loving it and then suddenly she found herself in the comedian's arms.

"Want to try that bed of marshmallows now, baby?" But she even laughed at him too. She loved them all. And then, there was Nick, smiling down at her, and she felt her insides turn to mush.

"You made it. You were terrific." His voice was very soft in the wild confusion of the studio.

"I forgot to talk about the dog and the weather." They exchanged a slow smile. She felt shy with him now. She was Kate again, not the mythical Miss Harper.

"We'll have to have you back then."

"Thank you for un-scaring me." He laughed and put an arm around her shoulders. He liked the feel of her skin on his arm.

"Anytime, Kate, anytime. We have about ten minutes until we s.h.i.+p out for that party, by the way. All set to go?" She had almost forgotten it. And what about Stu? Wasn't she supposed to see him?

"I don't know. I ... I think Stu ..."

"He called before you got here. He'll meet us there. It's Jasper's birthday, you know. Everyone will be there." Cinderella at the ball. But why not? She was dying to celebrate.

"Sounds wonderful."

"Do you want to go in one of the brown bananas, or shall we escape the crowds?" He looked away to sign a paper on someone's clipboard and then glanced at his watch.

"The brown bananas?" She looked at him in confusion.

"That's what I sent to pick you up. The brown limo. We have two of them. Everyone is going to the party in the two limos. All the guests from the show, and Jasper. But we could avoid the rush and go in my car." It sounded simpler, but also a little unnerving. She would lose the safety of the group. On the other hand, Kate had a feeling the comedian would find some way back to her knee. It would be easier to go with Nick.

"May I bring my flowers?" He smiled at her question. She had remembered. No one ever did. They left them in the dressing rooms and the maids took them home. But Kate had remembered. She was that kind.

"Sure you can. What's a little water all over the car?" They both laughed as he led her back to the dressing room. There was a slowing of the pace around them, a feeling of winding down, in direct contrast to the mounting tension Kate had sensed before the show. What a way to live. Getting jacked up like that every day. But what a high too. She had never felt as good in her life. Or not in a long time at least. A very long time.

She carefully picked up the vase with the little pink roses and the baby's breath. She had long since slipped the card into her bag. A souvenir of her Cinderella evening. "Thank you for these too, Nick." She wanted to ask him if he was always this thoughtful, but she couldn't. It would have been rude.

It was over now. The performance was finished. They were both real people again. He was no longer The Producer, and she was no longer The Star. She felt a little awkward as they walked quietly out to his car, and then she stood back and whistled. The sound was incongruous with the way she looked.

"Is that yours?" It was a long, low, dark-blue Ferrari with a creamy leather interior.

"I confess. I gave up eating when I bought that."

"I hope it was worth it."

But judging by the way he looked at the car, she knew it had been. In his own way, he was a big kid too. He held the door open for her and she slid inside. The car even smelled expensive, a rich mixture of good leather and expensive men's cologne. She was glad it didn't reek of perfume. That would have upset her.

It was comfortable there in the dark, as he pulled into the constant flow of traffic, and she sat back and started to unwind.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden?" He had noticed.

"Just unwinding, I guess."

"Don't do that yet. Wait till you see the party."

"Will it be a madhouse?"

"Without a doubt. Think you can stand it?"

"This is some debut for a country girl, Mr. Waterman." But she was loving it, and he could see that.

"Something tells me, Kate, that you were not always a country girl. None of this is new to you, is it?"

"On the contrary, it's all new. Or at least, I've never had the limelight on me before."

"But on people near you?" She jumped in her seat, and he looked at her, startled. What had he said? But she looked away and shook her head.

"No. I led a very different sort of life from all this." But he had almost lost her and he knew it. She had hidden again. And then unexpectedly, she looked at him with a warm smile and a sparkle in her eyes. "I certainly never rode around in Ferraris."

"Where did you live before the country?"

"San Francisco." She had hesitated only for a fraction of a second.

"Did you like it?"

"I loved it. I hadn't been back in ... in years, until about a month ago and then I took my little boy up a week ago, and he fell in love with it too. It's a neat town."

"Any chance you'll move back there?" He looked interested.

She shrugged. "I can't see it really."

"That's too bad. We're thinking about moving the show up there." She looked surprised.

"And away from the mecca of Hollywood? Why?"

"Jasper doesn't like it here. He wants to live someplace more 'civilized.' We suggested New York. But he's tired of that. He was there for ten years. He wants San Francisco. And I suspect"-he looked at her with a rueful grin-"that if he wants it badly enough he'll get it."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Okay, I guess. I've had my kicks here. But it gets old very quickly."

"Quick, bring in the Vestal Virgins!" She laughed at him, and he ran a hand through her hair playfully.

"Vestal Virgins, eh? You must think I use 'em up a dozen a day."

"Don't you?"

"h.e.l.l, no. Not anymore! Try as I might, I can't get past eight or nine ladies a day. Must be old age."

"Must be."

They were playing, feeling each other out. Who are you? What do you want? What do you need? Where are you going? But what did it matter? She realized with a little sinking feeling that she'd probably never see him again after tonight. Maybe in another five years, if she had a book that was a big success, if he was still with the show, if there still was a show ... if.

"Scared?"

"Hm?"

"You looked so serious. I wondered if you were nervous about the party."

"A little, I guess. It doesn't really matter. I'm an unknown. I can be invisible."

"Hardly, love. I don't think you could ever manage that."

"Bulls.h.i.+t."

They laughed again and he pulled into a palm-lined driveway in Beverly Hills. They had been pa.s.sing mammoth palaces for the past ten minutes.

"Good lord. Is this Jasper's house?" It looked as big as Buckingham Palace. Nick shook his head.

"Hilly Winters."

"The movie producer?"

"Yes, ma'am. Shall we?" Three attendants in crisp white jumpsuits were waiting to take the cars, and the door to the house was being opened by a butler and a maid. One could just glimpse a brilliantly lit hallway before the door closed again. Kate couldn't decide whether to look inside or out at the nonstop stream of Rolls Royces and Bentleys rounding the bend into the drive. It was easy to see why Nick had bought the Ferrari. He moved in a world that resembled no other.

The door opened again, and they were instantly sucked into the eye of a glittering storm. There were easily three hundred people, and Kate had a blurred impression of chandeliers, candles, sequins, diamonds, rubies, furs, and silk. She saw stars from every film she had ever seen, read of, or heard about.

"Do people really live like this?" Kate whispered to him as they stood at the edge of the crowd in the ballroom. The house had a fully mirrored, magnificent ballroom, which had been brought over piece by piece from a chateau on the Loire. How could this be real?

"Some people live like this, Kate. Some of them do it for a while, some forever. Most don't do it for very long. They make a fortune in the movies, spend it, blow it, give it away." He eyed a pack of rock stars at the other side of the room. They stood in skin-tight satin, and the wife of the lead singer was wearing a very bare skin-colored dress and floor-length sables with a hood. A little warm for the ballroom, but she looked happy. "That kind comes and goes quickly. People like Hilly will be here forever."

"It must be fun." She looked like a little girl peeking through the banisters at a Mardi gras ball.

"Is that what you want?" But he already knew it wasn't.

"No. I suppose I don't really want anything different from what I have." Yeah. The friend who spoils your kid. He remembered that, and suddenly felt bitter. She had more than anyone in that room. And much more than he had. Lucky b.i.t.c.h. But she wasn't a b.i.t.c.h. That was what bothered him. He liked her. Too d.a.m.n much. And she was so naive. He wondered what would happen if he just grabbed her and kissed her. She'd probably slap him. Marvelous old-fas.h.i.+oned gesture. The thought of it made him laugh as he put an empty gla.s.s of champagne back on a tray. And then he noticed that she was gone. She had drifted off in the throng, and he could see her twenty feet away, being harangued by some guy in a maroon velvet dinner jacket. He was one of the local hangers-on. Somebody's hairdresser, somebody's boy friend, somebody's son. There were a lot of guys like him around Hollywood. Nick started to move slowly through the crowd to get back to her. He couldn't hear the conversation, but she didn't look happy.

"Harper? Oh yeah. The writer on Jasper's show tonight. We saw you."

"That's nice." She was trying to be polite, but it wasn't easy. The guy was drunk, for a start. She still couldn't understand how she could have gotten pushed this far away from Nick, but there were so many people, and the ballroom was becoming the big attraction. The band was beginning to play some hot rock.