"Well now I'd like to hear you sing," Gela says cajolingly. "Maybe we should do something like that for Satinlia, this year, or any party. Singing, I mean, like choir."

Because it's nice. She's retrieving a cushion full of little pins and using an outstretched thumb and forefinger to measure the length of the ribbon. One eye squints shut, considering. "I'll come. Do I need anybody's name to get in? Or do I simply show up beautiful?"