I glowered at Pammy. “Not here. Come with me. Back in a moment,” I assured Serena, and towed her boyfriend off across the room. There was a pocket of relative privacy at one corner of the catwalk. The models had long since abandoned their platform, and two drunken guests were gyrating to the music, one of them wearing a green sequinned dress that made her look like a walking Christmas tree.

Colin submitted to being towed, but freed himself as soon as we’d reached the corner. “Bond, James Bond?” he quipped quizzically.

“She’s a woman!”

Colin regarded the Christmas-tree woman with a puzzled frown. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

I hit him with my glow stick, which had long since ceased to glow. “Not her! Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t be dense! You know very well who I mean! The Pink Carnation. Is. A. Woman.”

That got his attention. “Shhhh.”

I made an exasperated face. “Do you really think anyone here would care? They’d probably think I was talking about a new rock group.”

His face relaxed into amusement. “True.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

“You didn’t ask.”

“That is the most puerile excuse for an answer I’ve ever heard.”

Colin plunked his empty champagne glass down on the edge of the catwalk. “Well, what was I supposed to say?”

“You let me go on about the Pink Carnation, all the while knowing . . .” I bit down on my lip, hard.

Colin stared at me, uncomprehending. “All the while knowing what?”

“That the Pink Carnation was female!”

“You’re quite upset about this, aren’t you?”

“Urgh!” Ten points to Let’s State the Bleeding Obvious Man.

Looking completely baffled, Colin snagged two more glasses of champagne from a passing tray, and pressed one into my hand, closing my fingers around the stem. “Here. Drink. You look like you need it.”

Despite the fact that it came from Colin Selwick, that was excellent advice. I drank.

“I know you didn’t want me there, but it still wasn’t nice to make fun of me,” I blurted out.

“When did I make fun of you?” he asked, with a good imitation of surprise.

I eyed him suspiciously. “Last night.”

Colin contemplated this. Understanding dawned in his hazel eyes. “You mean the nightdress? You must admit, you did look like Jane Eyre.”

I could only deal with one grievance at a time. “Forget about that.”

“How can I?” Colin’s lips were twitching. “It’s not often a Brontë heroine—”

“Stop it!” I gave a little bounce of irritation. “I wasn’t referring to that! I wasn’t talking about your making fun of me for looking like a demented gothic heroine—”

“Not necessarily a demented gothic heroine,” Colin broke in, grinning.

“Oh, be quiet!” I howled, undoubtedly changing his mind about the whole demented thing. “I’m talking about the Pink Carnation being manly, and it wasn’t nice of you!”

“Come again?” said Colin.

I gripped the stem of my champagne glass, took a steadying breath, and started over. “I am referring,” I said with deliberate gravity, “to your allowing me to go on about the Pink Carnation being manly, when you knew, all along, that the Pink Carnation was Amy.”

“You think the Pink Carnation is—” Colin stopped abruptly. “Never mind. Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? First of all, I have no recollection of your saying anything about the Pink Carnation being manly.”

Hadn’t I? I racked my champagne-slogged brain. He’d said something about that researcher thinking the Pink Carnation was a transvestite, and I’d said . . . what had I said? I couldn’t remember. Damn.

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. Maybe champagne didn’t completely dull one’s ability to feel like an idiot.

“Second,” he began, “I never—” but I was spared the second blow to my ego. Someone tugged at Colin’s elbow, causing him to break off midsentence. We both looked over sharply. It was Serena.

“Colin?” she said in a piteous little croak, “I don’t feel very well.”

Colin’s expression immediately switched to affectionate concern. He put a protective arm around her shoulders. “Do you want me to take you home?”

I stood back, feeling like the proverbial third wheel. Colin’s attention was focused completely on Serena, his blond head bent attentively towards her dark one. I watched the way his brows drew together in concern, the way his bent body shielded her from the jostling crowds, and felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with skipping dinner.

I knew exactly what it was, and I was too champagne soaked to lie to myself about it.

I was jealous.

It wasn’t that I wanted Colin Selwick, I assured myself. Good heavens, no! I wanted what he stood for. I wanted someone who would drop a conversation when I appeared, who would worry if I said I felt sick, who would automatically shield me from being jostled without even stopping to think about it. It had been a very long time since anyone had taken care of me like that.

You learn how to work around it. You make sure you never drink so much that you can’t get home on your own. You mark out friends you can rely on. You program emergency numbers into your cell phone, bring Band-Aids in your bag, and always carry extra money for late-night cabs. But it’s not the same. I envied Serena that.

At the moment, she wasn’t looking particularly enviable. She sagged against Colin, both arms wrapped around her stomach.

“Look, why don’t I go find a cab?” Colin suggested desperately. “I’ll just go—”

Serena shook her head. “I don’t—” she began, and then pressed her lips tightly together. Her face had gone from pale to an alarming greenish color. “I think I’m going to—” She clamped her knuckles over her mouth and swallowed hard.

“Oh, hell. Um . . .” Colin cast a look of complete panic around the room. “There must be a loo somewhere.”

“I’ll take her.” I stepped in, slipping an arm through Serena’s. “I think I saw one just over that way.”

“Thank you,” Colin said with palpable relief. “I’ll just be out here.”

Taking Serena by the arm, I steered her towards the ladies’ room, rudely pushing through chattering groups of people. I got Serena to the bathroom just in the nick of time. There was a line, of course, but we pushed past, Serena’s greenish complexion and hunched posture doing more to explain than I could.

There was a huffy “Well!” from one woman in the queue, but I noticed she moved her Manolo Blahniks quickly out of the potential line of fire.

As I had for drunken roommates back in college, I knelt behind Serena with one arm around her shoulders, the other holding her long, dark hair back from her face, while I murmured silly, soothing things, like, “That’s right, get it all out,” and “Don’t worry, it’s all okay, you’ll feel better in a minute, just get it all out.”

There was an awful lot to get out.

Between bouts, she looked up at me with tearstained eyes. “I’m so embarrassed,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine why . . . I only had one glass . . . I don’t usually . . .” And she lurched back over the porcelain goddess.

“There, there.” I recaptured some escaping strands of dark hair. “Don’t worry. Maybe it was something you ate. Trust me, no one will think the worse of you. At least you made it to the toilet,” I said encouragingly. “I once threw up all over an ex-boyfriend’s shoes.”

A giggle emerged from the depths of the toilet bowl.

I gathered up a handful of toilet paper as she settled back on her haunches, and handed it to her in lieu of tissues. “Unfortunately, he was a rather nice ex-boyfriend, so I can’t even claim it was done in revenge.” I kept my tone deliberately light as I funneled her tissues. “And they were new shoes, too.”

“Wha-what did he say?” Serena ventured, blowing her nose.

“He was very nice about my throwing up on him,” I recalled. “What he found harder to forgive was my pointing at his shoes and bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Ah, well. Feeling better?”

Serena nodded tentatively.

I hauled myself to my feet with the help of the toilet paper dispenser, and held out a hand to her. “Why don’t we go rinse your mouth out then, and I should have some mints in my bag. . . .” Fumbling in my little Coach bag, I pushed open the door of the stall with one shoulder, ignoring the glares of the women waiting outside. It’s an endless mystery to me the way lipsticks, hair-brushes, and mints can all find places to hide in a bag two inches tall by four inches long.

Feeling a light touch on my arm, I looked up inquiringly.

“Thank you,” Serena said softly. Her mascara had run, and her nose was red, but her eyes were clearer and some color had returned to her cheeks. “You really have been lovely.”

I shook my head, resuming my mint search. “It’s really not a big deal. We’ve all been here. Well, not here, in particular, but you know what I mean. Mint?” I shook two tiny little Certs into my hand and held them out to Serena.

“Thank you.” She leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on her face. I handed her a paper towel. “About yesterday,” she said hesitantly, taking the paper towel and dabbing at her damp face, “I’ve been wanting to apologize.”

“You had nothing to apologize for,” I said firmly. Except for owning nicer boots than mine, but I decided to keep that bit to myself.

“Colin was impossibly rude.”

That I could agree with. Emphatically. I wondered if he’d told her of our midnight chat in the kitchen. I smiled noncommittally and handed her my mini mascara.

“He really isn’t usually like that,” she continued anxiously, her large, hazel eyes following mine in the mirror. I’d seen eyes of that same color before recently, but couldn’t peg where. “He felt awful about it afterwards.”

I admired her loyalty, but had little interest in hearing an apologia for Colin Selwick.

“I think we’re being glared at,” I put in quickly. “If you’re feeling better, we should probably free up the mirror space.”

Gathering up my toiletries, I hustled Serena out of the bathroom. Colin and Pammy were waiting for us by the door. I handed Serena over to Colin, who helped her into her coat, and asked the bouncer to whistle for a cab. As Serena said her good-byes to Pammy, Colin turned slightly so that he and I were blocked off from the other two.

“It was very kind of you to take care of Serena,” he said quietly.

“Just polishing my halo,” I proclaimed with a cavalier wave that nearly sent me toppling over. Two hours of sleep plus four—or was it five?—glasses of champagne were taking their toll.

Colin grabbed my elbow. “Steady there. Are you sure you don’t need someone to take care of you?”

It had definitely been five glasses of champagne. Smiling, Colin looked just like he did in the photograph on Mrs. Selwick-Alderly’s mantel—only without the horse. I pressed my eyes briefly shut to make the world stop spinning and shook my head.

“Nope. I’m absolutely all right. Not a bit”—I had to fling a hand out for balance as he let go—“unsteady.”

“Right,” Colin agreed with unconcealed amusement.

I made a concerted effort to stand up straighter.

The laugh lines at the corners of Colin’s mouth deepened.

Taking a step back, Colin slung an arm around Serena’s shoulder. “Ready, Serena?” She nodded, snuggling trustingly against his shoulder. “We could drop you off home if you like,” he suggested to me.

My champagne buzz was wearing off, leaving me feeling tired, and mildly ill.

“No, thanks,” I said brightly, snatching up a glass of champagne I had absolutely no intention of drinking and holding it aloft. “I’m sticking around with Pammy. The night is young! Right, Pams?”

Pammy gave me a you-are-a-great-big-weirdo look. “Sure, Ellie.”

“In that case”—Colin steered Serena towards the door—“good night.”

He was probably relieved to have to deal with only one wobbly female, and afraid I was going to change my mind.

“Good night, Eloise,” murmured Serena, peering around his arm. “Thank you, again.”

I watched them disappear behind the red ropes, the unwanted glass of champagne hanging heavily in my hand.

Pammy stared at Colin’s back as he helped Serena into the cab. “I don’t remember Serena’s brother being quite that hot.”

I pivoted to face her. “Who?” I demanded.

“Serena’s brother,” Pammy repeated. “You know, tall, blond guy, English-sounding name—Cedric, or Cecil, or . . .”