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to throw on some clothes.”
    ***
    Simon hadn’t been exaggerating. Everybody was there. From the Rep, there was Martha the costume designer, Chip the stage manager, and Paris the set designer. There were also older friends, writers and editors from the literary magazine Brenda and I had started after college, artists I’d come in contact with when Eileen and I had briefly had a gallery in the Mission district, and one or two lawyers and accountants from Eileen’s firm that I’d gotten to know over the years.
    The Top of the Mark, as its name implies, is on the top floor of the hotel. It has windows on all sides and each view is better than the last, but the spectacle of the city at night was lost on me as I popped from one table to another, exchanging polite air kisses with some and warm hugs with others, completely forgetting how tired I’d been and totally losing track of time.
    “Charley, has Simon filled you in on the new play?” Chip got right to the point as soon as we’d said hello. He was in his late twenties and it appeared he hadn’t managed to get much of a life since I’d seen him last, although I had heard he’d gotten an assistant, which might help. He was intense and focused and cared deeply about the Rep. Other people were chatting and enjoying the music of Hi Neighbor, the three-piece jazz combo, but Chip wanted to get down to work.
    “I just saw him for two minutes, so we didn’t get a chance to talk about it.”
    Chip nodded seriously. “I’ll messenger over a copy tomorrow. You’ll love it. The playwright is local, from somewhere in the East Bay. Simon’s met her but I haven’t yet.” I listened and smiled vaguely as he went on. “The play is so good. It’s funny but touching—”
    Simon swooped by and pulled me away before Chip could say anything more. “Charley, I don’t know if I shall ever forgive you for not telling me all about this chap.” He looked over at Jack.
    “I’ll make a deal,” I bargained. “If you put me in a quiet corner with a martini in my hand I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
    “Done!” He spun me around and I was facing Eileen and Brenda. “Girls, drag her off somewhere so she can give us the dish. I’ll be back in an instant.”
    A comfortable chair away from the crowd. Bliss. With my friends around, the shock of the evening’s discovery seemed miles away. Maybe it was incipient jet lag, or maybe it was the free-flowing champagne, but the dead woman in the hotel room was beginning to feel like something I’d dreamed. It was definitely something I didn’t want to think about. Especially not now.
    “So,” Simon said as he handed me a drink, “tell us everything.” He looked meaningfully at Jack, who seemed to be deep in conversation with Chip a couple of tables away. He’d know more about the new play than I would before the night was over.
    I cleared my throat and began. “We met at a fundraiser for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts.”
    “Well, la de da,” Simon said dryly.
    “Not really, it was pretty much your standard gathering of artsy dowagers and theater types at the Victoria & Albert.” I turned to Eileen. “It’s the most amazing museum. It has the most wonderful costume and textile collections—”
    “So anyway,” Brenda called my attention back to the point of the story. “Jack was there.”
    “He was.” I couldn’t help smiling that mysterious smile that the unromantic find so annoying. “He was the absolute definition of tall, dark, and handsome.” I looked over at him now, nodding encouragingly as Chip spoke. “Of course I assumed he was gay. I mean, a room full of actors, all of them fantastically attractive, and he stands out as…” I sighed.
    “Yes, darling, we’ve met him. We get the picture,” Simon said.
    “So did you flirt with him? Did your eyes meet across a crowded room? Did lightning strike?” Brenda’s eyes sparkled.
    “Did the angels weep for joy?” Eileen contributed, heavy