Thomas looks up at the roof and pulls his hoodie over his head, apparently deep in thought. I know him well enough to know he is thinking of a girl he’s fucked with that birthday. “Taurus,” he says.

“Good,” I say. “A heaux?”

“A heaux.” He smiles, then pulls his hood back down.

“What sign is Stella Shadid?”

“Libra,” he says.

“And what element is that?”

“Air.”

He is doing better than I thought. “Name the two other air signs.”

“Gemini.” He ruffles his hair. “And Aquarius?”

“Nice!”

“That one is confusing because ‘Aqua,’” he says. “Seems like water. But Aquarians are aloof … Air sign.”

“A heaux?”

Thomas smiles. “A heaux.”

I decide it is most important to make sure he knows Stella’s chart. Other things probably won’t come up. I memorized Stella’s chart on the drive. She gave me her birth info, but I googled her chart beforehand. I cross-checked to make sure Google was correct, and it was. For the first time in my life, I think that being famous must be terrifying.

“Stella has a Virgo moon,” I say. “What are Virgos known for?”

“Oh god,” Thomas says. “Sociopathic cunts.”

“Clover?” I ask.

Thomas nods. “Mean,” he says.

“Don’t think about Clover,” I say. “Think of memes.”

He ruffles his hair again, takes a deep breath. It’s kind of sweet seeing Thomas all worked up like this. “Clean,” he says. “Neurotic.”

“Great,” I say. “We want to frame things positively for Stella so she is pleased with her reading. So don’t bring any of this Clover-inspired anti-Virgo baggage in there, please.”

“Okay,” he says. “Virgos are intelligent, precise, and fastidious.”

“Perfect,” I say. “And what does the moon represent?”

“Emotions,” he says.

“Great, so what does a Virgo moon mean?”

“Cold,” he says.

I give him a disapproving glare.

“Logical,” he says. “Analytical.”

“Good! Stella also has a Virgo rising,” I say. “What does the rising sign represent?”

“Outward appearance,” he says. “First impression.”

“So how would you imagine a Virgo moon to appear?”

“Well-groomed,” he says.

I am impressed with Thomas. “Okay—”

A sharp nail taps Thomas’s half-open window. A frail platinum- blond woman is standing outside of it, an unleashed standard poodle beside her.

“Can I help you all?”

“Nope,” I say. Nosy bitch.

“We’re here for a meeting,” Thomas says. He eyes Waze on his phone. “Just a few minutes up the hill. We stopped here to consult before the meeting, but we’ll be on our way if it’s any trouble.”

“Oh?” she says. “What a handsome couple you are.”

“We aren’t a couple,” I say.

“Yeah,” says Thomas. “We’re partners.”

“He’s my associate,” I say.

“All right then,” she says. The poodle barks. “Bentley,” she hisses at the poodle. “Behave yourself.” Then she turns back to us. “Have a nice meeting.”