Then, just like that, she was yesterday’s news.

After Arwen had been working at DJK for a year, Juliet went out for drinks with some of her closest architect friends, all of them women. They were in Chicago for a one-day design showcase, a PR kind of thing. Arwen was in Maui, checking the site of a hotel expansion, and Juliet suspected she’d been DJK’s second choice as spokesperson for the Chicago gig.

Whatever. The drinks arrived, and within seconds, the issue Juliet knew was coming arrived. “Tell us about your whiz kid,” said Yvette.

“She’s doing very well,” Juliet said. She couldn’t be anything but positive, and she suspected the group knew it.

Silence dropped over the table. “What’s said in Chi-Town stays in Chi-Town?” suggested Lynn. Everyone nodded, except Juliet.

“I’m sorry, Juliet,” Yvette said, “but what’s the big deal with her? She’s not exactly special. Forgive me for saying so, but there it is. All of a sudden, it’s like there’s only one female architect in the world, while the rest of us have been slogging it out for decades.”

“Maybe it’s timing,” Juliet said. “You know how it is. Sometimes you just get attention.”

The other women murmured. A few looks were exchanged—disappointment, maybe, that Juliet wasn’t going to throw her protégé under the bus.

“Do you ladies know I love opera?” Susan said. She was the oldest of the group at sixty-five and, at one time or another, had been a mentor to every other woman at the table. “I even studied it in college, believe it or not. Music performance minor.”

“You’re so cool,” Juliet said with a smile.

Susan smiled back, her face kind. “One time, my husband and I went to hear Pavarotti sing. And from the first note out of his mouth, my body just broke out in goose bumps. Everyone in that building knew we were hearing the greatest tenor in three generations.” She took a sip of her martini. “Then, a few years later, we heard Andrea Bocelli. You know, the handsome one?”

“He’s blind, you know,” said Linda.

“Yes, dear, everyone knows that,” said Susan. “So we went to the concert, and Bocelli was good. Very good. It was very entertaining. The crowd was in love.” She paused. “But he’s no Pavarotti. He’s not even a great opera singer. He’s a pop star who sings opera, Elvis Presley and Christmas carols. Which is not to take away from his talent, his spark. But if you love opera, if you know opera, he’s a mediocre singer who gives a great performance.”

“By which you’re saying . . .” said Lynn.

“This young woman we’re discussing is no Pavarotti.”

Juliet was so relieved, she closed her eyes. It wasn’t just her.