Small spots of damp, invisible against the black silk of her pumps. Another – very satisfying – Rand gesture. As unseemly as the brawling had been, breaking it up had relieved, a little, her seething anger at Richard Francis, the New York Times, Ben Brantlee and his finicking, nibbling review. Agnes, of course, was right – there were lots of good quotes, she should read the glass as at least three quarters full. Brantlee had written glowingly of Julia's book, Tom's score, had lauded Ivy's brilliancy. Praised everything, in fact, except Tom's direction. One single sour note, and struck only by the Times critic. The glass was, in reality, 99 and 44/100% full. But. She had marshalled this night like a general, anything less than wholesale, unconditional surrender – the escape of a single enemy sentiment – was in some measure her failure. Well, the war was never wholly won, was it? The next campaign would be for the Tonys. And that could wait, a little.

So much happiness tonight. Spots of tension underneath – something was up between Tom and Julia. That, too, could wait.

"Derek." Eileen patted the banquette. "Sit with me a minute." How to begin? She cocked her head, considering, lost the moment.

"Eileen. Well done." He touched his Scotch to her martini. "A beautiful show. Well done." No congratulations, simple acknowledgment. And her opening.

"It owes a lot to you, Derek. Maybe more than you know – I particularly wanted to thank you, tonight, for everything you've done for "Bombshell."

Derek's eyes narrowed. Eileen's most honeyed, caressing tone, her most enigmatic little smile. "You aren't by any chance thanking me for quitting?" Her smile broadened, a teacher approving a bright student.

"If you hadn't, "Bombshell" wouldn't be what it is." She patted his hand. "The choreography is wonderful – the best you've ever done – don't think I don't appreciate your letting us use it. But when Karen followed you to "Hit List," "Bombshell" stopped being toxic."

"Toxic? Christ, Eileen. Are you blaming me, or Karen? You know how I work, if you wanted group hugs you wouldn't have asked me in the first place."

"I know perfectly well how you work, and you of all people know I don't want, or do, group hugs. But before you left, "Bombshell" was the most dysfunctional production I've ever seen. And I don't blame you, or Karen, nearly as much as I blame myself." She paused, but she would NOT leave that hanging. She had not meant to say it. "Stall, in the end, we have a great show. That's all that matters." It sounded a little hollow, but it would have to do.

He was taken aback – he couldn't recall Eileen Rand admitting error in the whole of their acquaintance.

She could, would, did change her mind, but always as progress, never back-trace. This was new ground, for her. He waited.

"I let you overreach, Derek. I was scared, and I let you stand in for Jerry. That was wrong of me. I let your judgment overrule mine, and that was wronger still. And Karen – well, she cast her little spell on all of us, for a bit, but I should never have let you put her on. She was the wrong choice, Derek. From the start. "

That would not stand, he couldn't let it stand. "The Boston run -"

"Was Boston. Karen's lovely, she's fresh, she has a beautiful voice, and charm – I wouldn't deny it for a minute. But you can't think she's an actress of Ivy's caliber. She couldn't have pulled off the performance Ivy gave tonight, and you know it. Karen won't last, Derek. She'll charm audiences for a year or two, I'd give her three, at most. But the charm will wear thin, and there isn't much behind it."

He could match her frankness. "I know that. All of it. I've used her, I'm using her still. And I'll go on using her while the magic lasts. You don't know, Eileen, you can't imagine, can you, what it's like for a director to see raw material like Karen. It's pure excitement. She makes men dream, I told you at the start. I can cut her, shape her, make her what I want – and put her in the light."

A corner of her mouth twitched. "And you can't do that with Ivy. Ivy colors outside your lines, doesn't she? Colors outside your colors, too. Karen's Marilyn – your Marilyn – was one shade: baby-blue. Ivy made her full spectrum."

He nodded. "She did. She was magnificent. But not what I saw as the story, not my vision."

"Not really Tom's, nor Julia's, either. Mine, though. Derek. Be careful. Don't let Karen derail a great career. She isn't the pillar of purity you men seem to think her."

"I won't dignify that by asking what you mean, but somehow I know you're going to tell me."

"Do you remember Ellis?"

He didn't. She prompted, "That little, badly dressed pretty boy with the curly hair? He was Tom's assistant, then mine. Came to Boston with us."

"Vaguely. Oh – yeah, annoying little toad, right?"

"He had his uses. One of which was bringing me gossip. Julia and Michael, Tom and Sam, all that. And he overheard one of the ensemble say Karen had told them the only reason she wasn't cast as Marilyn was that she'd refused to sleep with you."

He was appalled. Angry. "You don't believe that – you can't. And I don't believe she said that. It's not true – you have to know that."

"Of course I know it. But – she said something, Derek. She said something. What does that tell you?"

He was tired. "What it tells me, Eileen, is it's time for me to call it a night. You've a great show. But you're wrong about Karen."

"Am I, Derek? You rehearsed "Hit List" without her for two weeks. Was there more contention, or less, after she joined you? Don't answer. Think about it."

He didn't want to think about it. Really didn't. He kissed her cheek, mustered a smile. "For you, Eileen, I will. Because I know you love me."

"I do." Quite simply. "Good night, dear Derek. Get home safe. Stay safe."