Collette leans on the iron railing, a notebook loose in her hand, the street music fading. "The band is asleep. I have the balcony and a long night. Tell me what you want from it, cher, and I will tell you what I am willing to give." The street has gone quiet and the balcony is ours. Come out here, cher. Tell me what kind of night you want, nice and slow.