"Tomorrow," she said. "Background. You'll have to tell me what background means so I don't guess wrong."
"It means people can talk," Diane said. "It means if a table is in the middle of a proposal, you do not pick that moment to bare your soul. It means forty minutes, a list I approve, no applause solicited, and if Martin cuts you off you stop mid-phrase and smile. Can you stop mid-phrase?"
Claire almost laughed. It came out as breath. "I've had practice."
"Good. Go finish your side work. And Claire? What you played was not embarrassing. That is not the same as it being allowed. Don't confuse the two or you'll make me the villain in a story I didn't audition for."
"I won't."
She had her hand on the door when Diane added, quieter, "Who taught you?"
"My mother. Then Lena Voss, in Cleveland."
Diane nodded, as if a name had settled a bet she had not admitted to placing. "All right. Go."
On the way out, Evelyn Rowe was at the coat check, the green silk under a black coat now, the daughter in a wool cape that looked too old for her and also exactly right. Willa saw Claire and lifted a hand, not a wave meant for the room, a small signal. Claire crossed because not crossing would have been a kind of lie.