The other woman, Sufi, was small and somewhat misshapen, thick through the trunk, her back hunched. She wore a mauve velour sweatsuit that looked like she'd never sweated in it. Her blond hair was thin and fine, worn too long, I thought, to be flattering.

After a decent interval, the three of them resumed their conversation, much to my relief. I hadn't the faintest idea what to say to them. Nola was talking about a thirty-dollar fabric remnant she was whipping up to wear to a wine-tasting down in Los Angeles. "I checked all the shops in Montebello, but it was ridiculous! I wouldn't pay four bills for an outfit. I wouldn't even pay two" she said with energy.

That surprised me. She looked like a woman who enjoyed extravagance. Unless I just make up things like that. My notion of women with money is that they drive to Beverly Hills to have their legs waxed, charge a bauble or two on Rodeo Drive, and then go to charity luncheons at $1,500 a plate. I couldn't picture Nola Fraker pawing through the bargain bin at our local Stretch N' Sew. Maybe she'd been poor as a young girl and couldn't get used to being a doctors wife.

Bobby took my arm and steered me toward the men. He introduced me to his stepfather, Derek Wenner, and then in quick succession to Drs. Fraker, Metcalf, and Kleinert. Before I knew what to think, he was hustling me toward the hallway. "Let's go upstairs. We'll find Kitty and then I'll show you the rest of the house."

"Bobby, I want to talk to those people!" I said.

"No, you don't. They're dull and they don't know anything. "

As we passed a side table, I started to set my wineglass down, but he shook his head. "Bring it with you."