"I'm not entirely disinterested in what my husband does," Nancy says, voice sweet and dry as sherry.

"But I suppose I should confess that I've been wanting to ask your opinions on the shows that they put on here. There's a new ballet that opened last weekend, yes?"

There. That's the note. Bright and curious, uncertain just enough to be taken under someone's wing.

It's akin to skating over ice, and as the conversation rapidly turns into opinions of this ballerina, and that opera singer, she feels like she's done a twist in the air, and landed in a glide.