Marny’s party was proceeding normally; the noise level and the guests were getting higher in direct proportion to the level of consumption. Tobacco smoke enveloped the room, mixing with a trickle of greeny-sweet dope from several corners. Jane’s cheeks were burning, and her head swam miserably from the smoke and heat. She stared at the rum and Coke she seemed to have acquired by some magic means and raised it to her lips. The smell of it sickened her, but she poured half of it down her throat anyway in a desperate attempt to cool herself off, then she put her hand on the wall to steady herself as waves of nausea whirled through her. She became vaguely aware of a presence beside her, holding her by the arm, and an urgent voice speaking in familiar accents. “Jane. Jane. Are you okay? You look terrible. Come out on the balcony and get some fresh air.” She allowed herself to be led through the door.

A deep breath of cool air steadied her. “Thanks, Mike. It’s all right. I just felt a little dizzy in there for a minute. It must have been the heat.” She turned and half-smiled at him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What are you doing these days?” Now that the rum seemed to have decided to stay in her stomach, it was beginning to cheer her up. Even Mike looked pretty good.

He seized the mood before it could pass him by once again. “Oh, Janie. You know what I’m doing. I’m waiting for you, like I always said I would.” He grabbed her hard by the upper arm, his voice hoarse and shaking with intensity. “Come back home with me. You’d be much happier. Dad says that he’s ready to retire whenever I want to take over the business—whenever we can get married. I can’t stand watching you be miserable. Please!”

By now the air had cleared her head and restored her reason. She looked at the sturdy young man opposite her, whose broad shoulders, wavy brown hair, dark brows, and earnest look had made him, about ten years before, the most desirable boy in her high school graduating class, and laughed. “Mike, I wish you’d think up something more original to say one of these days. Can you honestly see me running a hardware store with you, all cosy and domestic? Come off it.” She turned and leaned on the railing of the balcony. “First of all, I’m still married—and I’m not sure when or if I’m planning to get a divorce. And then, if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it just so I could end up where I started from. I mean, what would be the point of that? Besides, maybe I plan on marrying someone—well—more, uh, interesting.” He was leaning forward painfully to catch her words before the rush of the traffic below snatched them away. Then she turned back to face him. “You know, sweetheart,” she said, suddenly inspired. “I’m going to tell you a secret. I’m not at all what you think I am. Come here!” The snarl startled him almost as much as her catching him behind the neck and dragging his face down to her. She whispered something in his ear; then she let him go and pushed him away.

He stared at her in blank incomprehension. Finally he shook his head and spoke, very slowly. “If I thought that was true, I’d push you off this balcony. My God, Jane, don’t say things like that to me. I can’t stand it. You’re just trying to drive me crazy.” His voice broke, and he tried to catch hold of her again.

“It could be true, you know. You’ll never be sure now, will you? Think about that.” She ducked out from under his arms and moved back into the crowded living room.

“Well, if it isn’t the farm queen and her rustic swain,” said a mocking voice as they entered. “Hi, Mike. How’re you doing? Not so good, to judge by the look on your face. If I were you, I’d leave her alone. She isn’t worth the agony.” Mike glared at the speaker and elbowed his way rapidly through the crowd and out the door. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Did I say something that upset him? I am so-o-o sorry.”

“Hi, Grant. You are a real bastard, you know. But I think it was what I said that upset him.” She smiled briefly. “I thought you weren’t going to come to this thing. You change your mind about Marny’s charms?”

“Not bloody likely. But I might have changed my mind about you. Did you ever think of that?” He grinned and tapped her lightly on the end of her nose. “Come over here and let’s have a little chat.” He put his arm around her shoulder and propelled her toward a chair in the slightly darkened dining L. She shivered a little at his touch.

“And what are we going to talk about?” she asked with a touch of wide-eyed innocence.

“Oh, business, and gossip, and what you’re doing with yourself these days. Then I’ll get you another drink.” He crouched down beside her chair, and began to murmur softly but intently close by her.

Finally he stood up and looked at her with her head tilted questioningly to one side. “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“It’s a tempting proposition, but I’m not sure that it’s feasible. I have my sources, you know, and I would have to check with them. They don’t like too much freelance distribution around town.”

“Of course,” he said, expansively. “It wouldn’t really be much different, but it sure should be more profitable.”

“And riskier,” she said coldly.

“Perhaps.” The mocking good humour had left his manner at this point and he was staring at her impatiently. She tried to return his look with one of casual unconcern, but the nervousness he engendered in her made her eyes flicker away under his gaze. He radiated power, rank ambition, and a certain raw maleness that had always put her off balance. He was rather short, with dark, elegant good looks that projected equally well from the stage or in front of the camera; few theater people in Toronto appeared to make as handsome an income out of the profession as he did. There were several other actors at the party, but in this crowd of hopefuls, underpaid bit players, and under-employed stars, he wore his prosperity with arrogance. The eyes that sized up Jane Conway at that moment were as bright with ambition and greed as her own. They were both in from the country, these two climbers, and they understood and despised each other’s origins. The silk shirt and close-fitting jeans of Grant Keswick, the actor, were a very thin veneer, disguising and civilizing the body of Jake Matushek, the nobody. She used to sneer at Grant’s cultured voice and little fits of bravado until, in that last fight, Jake had re-emerged and had hit her with sufficient strength and force to terrify her. Then he had thrown her into a corner of the room, speechless with fright and indignation, and had called her a worthless whore before he walked out.

“Come on, baby,” he said at last, his voice softening. “Let’s not fight about it yet. You ask around and see what happens.” He moved around to the back of her chair and leaned over her. “You’re looking terrific tonight, sweetheart. I don’t know what you’ve done to yourself but it seems to suit you very well.” He buried his head in the hair behind her ear as he let his arm drop slowly down over her breast. She let her head fall back, and for a few moments gave herself up to the pleasure of it all. But when he moved around and pulled her to her feet with sudden and urgent force, her compliance disappeared. “Don’t, Grant,” she hissed. She grabbed both his hands and pushed them off, shook herself so that her dress settled back into its cool lines, and said, “Thanks for the compliment. It’s fun and all that, but I have bigger fish to fry these days. No room for scroungers.”

“Oh, my God,” he breathed. “For a minute there I almost forgot what a bloody little whore you are. Fortunately, I’m not obliged to buy it these days. I leave pigs like you to the slobs that have to pay. I think I’ll go home and take a shower.” He turned and walked steadily out of the room.

Jane stared after him for a moment, then sauntered out of the dining area. She headed over to a chesterfield in the corner, where an extravagant-looking blonde was seated on the arm, leaning over an exhausted-looking brunette. “Jenny, Milly,” she murmured, dropping down beside them. “How are things? It’s been a long time.” They nodded. “You two still working?”