Her orders had been clear; no matter what, make sure the alcohol lasts the night. Short of diluting the precious concoction with water, Harriet had instructed her bartenders to do whatever it took. The solution was only temporary. For those who had expressed their skepticism, the manager had promised that their supply would be replenished before a single New Yorker with a dry tongue had time to notice that their reserves had run dry.
When the musicians had played their last note Harriet had finally left the office where she had locked herself all night. Carrying a small bag containing a few of her late husband's ordinary outfits, Harriet made her way backstage. Having made sure that the smallest dressing room had remained empty, Harriet dropped her bag on the counter and waited for her protégée to join her.