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“Where did you get that?” I blurt out.

“It was lying on a table. You know, there was a champagne glass balanced on top of it.” She smiles in mock reproof. “You should take better care of such a lovely thing. I have to go present an award, but I’ll see you later, OK?” She twinkles at me, then hurries off.Advertisement

In a slight daze, I return to our table and sink into my seat.

“What happened?” demands Suze. “You’ve been ages!”

“It’s OK. Luke’s fine with everything and Lois has got the clutch.”

“Nicely done,” applauds Luke.

“Thanks.” I beam at him, finally relaxing. “So, what are these awards all about?” I reach for the program and flip through it. “Best Debut. Suze, you could win that!”

“They should have Best Background Artist,” says Suze, looking up from her program in dissatisfaction. “We’re the backbone of the film industry. Why don’t we have our own Oscar? Tarkie!” she exclaims as he sits down. “I want you to sponsor a new awards ceremony. For background actors.”

“Ahm …” Tarquin looks wary. “Maybe.”

“The big corporations don’t care about us. But where would they be without the talent and commitment of the background artist?” Suze sounds like she’s about to organize a rally. “Where would their blockbusters be then? We need recognition. We need respect!”

“And you want to win a prize,” I put in.

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“It’s not about that,” she says severely. “I’m simply speaking out on behalf of my community.”

“But you would win a prize.”

“I might do.” She preens herself. “We could have statues like the Oscars, but silver.”

“And call them ‘Suzes.’ ”

“Shut up!” She pokes me. “Although actually … why not?”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The deep boomy voice is back, and spotlights start circling the whole room. “Welcome to this year’s Actors’ Society Awards. Please welcome your host, Billy Griffiss!”

Applause breaks out as music erupts from the loudspeakers, and Billy Griffiss comes running down a set of lit-up steps, onto the stage. (I’m not exactly sure who he is. Maybe a comedian.) He starts his speech, but I’m only half listening.

“Sage!” says Aran, as she approaches the table, all glittery under the circling spotlights. “We lost you there. You need a drink, honey?”

“I’ve been searching for my purse,” says Sage, looking cross. “I just had it. I put it down, and it was gone.”

“Never mind,” says Suze quickly. “I don’t think it went with your dress, actually.”

“And now, to present our first award, may I introduce a young lady who has done more for the share price of Kleenex than any other actor. We’ve seen her on the scaffold, we’ve seen her marooned in space, and now we’re going to see her right here. The queen of the weepie … Miss Lois Kellerton!”

The theme tune to Tess blasts through the loudspeakers, and Lois appears at the top of the lit-up steps. She looks slim and ethereal and beautiful … and she’s holding the Art Deco bag.

Shit.

OK. Think. Quickly. The important thing is that Sage doesn’t look at the stage and see the clutch.

“Sage!” I say wildly. “I need to speak to you. Now.”

I can see Suze clocking the silver bag in Lois’s hand, and her eyes widen in comprehension.

“Ow!” Suze rubs at her chest vigorously. “I don’t feel great. Sage, have I got a rash? Could you look at my skin?”

Puzzled, Sage peers at Suze’s chest.

“You’re good,” she says, and turns back to the stage.

“Sage!” I hurry over to her chair and kneel down, forcing her to look away from the stage. “I’ve had a brilliant idea for a dress! With a fishtail and a kind of … bodice …”

“Sounds great.” Sage turns away. “We’ll talk about it later. I want to watch Lois mess this up.”

“And the nominees are …” Lois is saying. She’s standing at the lectern by now, and the clutch is resting on top of it in plain view.

“She’s so skinny,” Sage is saying pityingly, plumping up her own cleavage. “She has such a sad little body. She’s—” Her eyes suddenly narrow. “Wait. Is that my purse?” She gasps so loudly, heads turn at the next table. “Is that my purse? Did that witch steal my purse?”

“No!” I say hastily. “It was just a mix-up, I’m sure.…” pqdm.com