"Oh, who cares? I'm getting married. I can do something else. I never liked the job that much anyway. How's goes the shopping so far?"

"The shopping?" I said blankly. I was still trying to cope with the disaster at CF.

"For the wedding. A dress."

"Oooh. For the wedding. I've got a dress."

"Bullshit. You only own one dress and it's black. You're the maid of honor, not a pallbearer." Vera and her beloved were getting married in eight days, on Halloween. Everyone had given her infinite grief over her choice of dates, but Vera was adamant, claiming her natural cynicism was at war with sentiment. She'd never thought to marry. She'd been dating (she said) since she was twelve years old and had gone through countless men. Despite the fact that she was absolutely nuts about her fiancée, she was determined to turn tradition on its ear. I thought a black dress would be perfect for Halloween nuptials. Once the reception was over we could go trick-or-treating together and maybe pool the take. I wanted dibs on the Hershey's Kisses and Tootsie Rolls.

"Besides, you've had that damn dress for five years," she went on.

"Six."

"And last time you wore it you said it still smelled like a swamp."

"I washed it!"

"Kinsey, you cannot wear a six-year-old smelly black dress in my wedding. You swore you'd get a new one."

"I will."

She gave me a flat look, filled with skepticism. "Where will you go to shop? Not K Mart."

"I wouldn't go to K Mart. I can't believe you said that."

"Well, where?"

I looked at her uneasily, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy. I knew the hesitation was just an invitation for her to step in and boss me around, but to tell you the truth, I hadn't the faintest idea what kind of dress to buy. I've never been a maid of honor. I don't have a clue what such maidens wear. Something useless, I'm sure, with big flounces everywhere.

She stepped in. "I will help you," she said, as though to a half-wit.

"You will? That's great."

Vera rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was thrilled that I was yielding control. People like to take charge of my personal life. Many seem to feel I don't do things right. "Friday. After work," she said.

"Thanks. We can have dinner afterward. My treat."

"I don't want a Quarter Pounder with cheese," she said.

I waved at her dismissively and headed toward the door. "See you in the morning. You want to let me out?"

"Hang on a minute and I'll go, too. Why don't you go ahead and pick up the case I tried to give you Friday. It's in the file in my out box. The woman's name is Bibianna Diaz. If you can nail her, maybe all of us will end up looking good."