“Normally that’d be fine, but my cat’s sick,” I say in a guilty rush. He’s so sick he’s wasting away, almost as though he doesn’t exist.... “So unfortunately, I need to stay close to home. I’m in the East Village. Have you heard of Cheese?”

“Is this a ‘Bree’ joke?”

“No, sorry, I meant—it’s a restaurant, called Cheese.”

“Do they serve anything besides cheese?”

“I don’t think so. If you don’t eat cheese we can totally find someplace else.” How do you feel about Duane Reade, the only other food-dispensing place on my street?

Miles catches my eye. “Say cheese,” he whispers as he passes by.

I roll my eyes. Plus, how did he hear me? I’ve been speaking very quietly so as not to get on anyone’s nerves. At least, I thought I was. Maybe all the talk of cheese got me excited. After all, I can expense the meal.

“Do they serve wine with the cheese?” Bree wants to know.

“I’m not sure.”

“I could bring my own bottle.”

“Okay, cool. Why not?”

Having a glass of wine is a great idea. Then she’ll really open up. Also, I can pretend I have a friend in the city and we’re meeting to have wine and cheese, which is a completely normal, well-adjusted, healthy thing to do, rather than, say, going to a cheese-themed restaurant solely because I live, work, and “play” on a single city block.

We settle on a time for Saturday and I give her the location.

“What do you look like?” she says.

“I have two-toned hair. Not because I’m cool, just out of neglect. It’s dark on top and turns light halfway down.”

“I have one-toned hair, blond, and I’ll be in my 1981 Undersea T-shirt. I got it at a yard sale last weekend. I almost felt bad paying five bucks! I wanted to be like, ‘This is probably worth five thousand, sooooo . . .’ ”

“Do you like the movie, or is it more about the vintage pop culture?” I’m truly curious. Fandom comes in many forms.

“Oh my God, I loooooooove Undersea—you have no idea. It’s something I never put in my profiles, because I don’t want to be labeled a fake geek girl or whatever, but I’m all about wearing costumes at the midnight showing, I can do ‘the hair’ and all that, and this time for my profile I’d like to be up front about it. Really be ME, you know? Because otherwise, what’s the point?”

I bite my tongue. I’ll be being her, at least at the beginning. But denying that fact is the number-one rule in the Freelancer’s Handbook: