I sigh and feel her look at me from the corner of my eye. I glance over at her and she leans forward. “D?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna ***** you tonight.”

“You’d better,” I murmur, sitting up straight, not moving my eyes from the person on stage. She takes my hand and squeezes. The second I realize how strange and wonderful that is, she lets go.

The director of nursing takes the podium sometime around dessert. Oh, no, I mutter, suddenly feeling butterflies, hoping I dont win it. Suddenly I dont want to get up in front of all these people.

She introduces herself and talks a bit about each nominee. I covertly reapply my lipstick, just in case. When she gets to me, I stand up, as expected, and I now know why Shane was uncomfortable talking about her celebrity clients, because I feel like squirming. Darah Salameh came to us from Texas, and works in the E.R. Some of the people who nominated her say that shes a consummate professional…she advocates tirelessly for her patients…that she has a wonderful way with pediatric patients.

I am glad to be so dark skinned, because I know I am blushing like a *****. I can feel the heat of it in my face. I am relieved the second I can sit down, and when she moves on to Darrell I take a hefty swig of my gin and tonic.

Go, D. Shane says, grinning.

Shut up, I mutter, trying not to smile.

And the Nurse of the Year is…Darah Salemah.

Oh, *****, I mutter through a plastic smile. I dont know why my knees feel like jelly. Its just a stupid awards thing.

Still, I am tickled to win, and surprised at how my peers seem to like me, given my stony reception in Houston. I manage to walk up the stairs to the stage without tripping, shake the nursing directors hand, and take my crystal award thing from her.

The room is full of people, most of whom I don’t know, most of whom are far richer than me. They are clapping and I feel a little dizzy.

Im supposed to say something brief into the mic. Id like to thank the Academy… I say, and everyone laughs, fueling my embarrassment further. Oh. Wrong awards.” I make the mistake of glancing at my friends, specifically Shane. She is smiling at me, her beautiful sideways grin, and I feel a little weak in my knees. “Um, seriously, Im shocked to get this honor. This is for all my fellow nurses. You rock. I lift the crystal, feeling incredibly stupid as they applaud. I walk back to the table, not daring to meet my friends eyes.

Nice, Dar, Darrell says, lifting his drink to me.

Thanks. I’ve never been so mortified in my life. I lift my drink up and take a hefty gulp of it.

After there are cocktails and some people dance. Shane and I sit talking with Bob and Ravi while Darrell dances with every attractive woman in attendance.

I think I need another drink, I say.

I second, Shane says. So we get up and walk to the bar. She actually puts her hand on the small of my back and both the feel of her fingertips on the satin of my dress and the possessiveness of the gesture make remember that hot dance at Danas wedding, and I feel warm in a way nothing like my earlier embarrassment.

A blonde woman with an updo is at the bar. The bartender hands her a martini, which she accepts. When she dips her head down to sip it, her enormous diamond chandelier earrings catch the blue light behind the bar. I’m so mesmerized by the light playing on those huge stones that I don’t initially realize that Shanes hand has tightened to a fist on my back.

Shane steps back, as if physically threatened, and when I look at her face she looks terrified. She looks as if she’s been hit.

The woman picks up her evening bag in one hand, and holds the drink with the other. She turns, lithe and thin in her black dress, and then looks up and sees Shane, who just stands there looking stunned and beautiful, perfect lips parted in shock, her brain apparently frozen.

The woman’s reaction is shock, which is quickly replaced by anger. I think I see pain in there too.

What the ***** are you doing here! she asks Shane.

Who the ***** does this woman think she is? She can take her huge blingy earrings and her martini and shove them up her narrow white *****, ’cause no one talks to my friends like that.

Who the ***** are you? I ask, looking from Shane to the blonde.

She stands up straighter, self-important. I’m Cherie Jaffee,” she says. “Who the ***** are *you*?