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was waiting for his drink. He hurried back out toward the party, but Nora placed her hand lightly on his arm as he passed.
    “Is that for anyone in particular?” she said, glancing at the cocktail.
    “It’s for…” And he nodded toward the drunk comedian, who at that precise moment was belching wackily into his fist and stubbing his cigarette out on the rubber floor, grinding it out with the tip of his sneaker.
    “Hey, YOU!” Nora shouted across the room like a New York cop. Fifteen people looked over, and the comedian pointed to himself sheepishly. “Yeah, you—you know what an ashtray is?” He nodded dumbly. “Know how to use one?” He nodded again. People were starting to snigger now, and he was summoning up the trademark wacky expression that could usually be relied on to get him off the hook, but Nora wasn’t finished yet. “And pick that thing up.” He glanced down at the butt on the floor. “You heard me—pick it up.” And the man had no choice but to bend over, meekly pick up the cigarette butt and drop it into his jacket pocket.
    Nora turned back to Stephen. “Tell me, what do British people see in that guy?”
    “I think people find him wacky.”
    “Yeah, so wacky you want to kick him in the eye. May I?” she asked, taking the drink from Stephen’s hand. “Care for one yourself? Here, we can share this…” and she passed him back the drink. He took a sip, and they stood for a moment in silence, as she scrutinized his face through narrowed eyes, just long enough for him to start to feel uncomfortable.
    “I should probably clear some more glasses…”
    But she stopped him, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder once more. “Something’s bugging me—haven’t we met before?” she said. “I mean somewhere other than in the bathroom?”
    “I think you might have seen me at the theater.”
    “The theater?”
    “And we spoke, very briefly, at the first-night party. I sort of work with your husband.”
    “You’re one of the stage manager guys, right?”
    “No, I’m an actor, well, an understudy at the moment. Your husband’s understudy, in fact.”
    “Want me to push him downstairs for you?” she deadpanned. “Make it look like an accident? They’re spiral stairs, the police would never know.”
    “Maybe one day.”
    “Or we could hire someone to do it—go fifty-fifty.”
    “I’ll let you know.” Once more, he felt he should get back to work.
    “So what else do you do?”
    “What
else
? Okay, well, you know that bit at the end, when Byron walks off to his death, and this Ghostly Figure opens the door for him? I am that Ghostly Figure.”
    “The guy in the mask!”
    “That’s me.”
    “I’m sorry, I should have recognized you!”
    “Well, I am wearing a mask, so—”
    “No, but, still, you do it so well. What’s the secret?”
    “Practice. An hour every morning. Open-close, open-close, close-open, open-close…” She laughed, a warm, throaty laugh, and Stephen felt a little glow of satisfaction, and for a moment his waiter’s uniform reverted to just being a really nice suit.
    “And my husband—how is he to work with?”
    “Well, I don’t really work
with
him as such, but he’s great, really, really…” There was a moment’s hesitation as he looked for a word more eloquent than “great”; “…full of energy.”
    “He’s certainly full of
something
. I’m sorry…what’s your name again?”
    “Stephen,” adding, almost as a test, “Stephen McQueen.”
    “Well, Stephen,” she said, passing the test, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but…don’t you mind? My husband asking you to…what I’m trying to say is, he hasn’t by any chance been a complete asshole, has he?”
    “Not at all. Well, a little maybe. But it’s okay, I’ve done this kind of thing before. I don’t mind.” And at this moment he really didn’t mind. It was, after all, the first time he’d had actual eye contact for the last three hours, the first time he’d