“It’s about a new museum,” she said. “I’m being recruited.”

THE TRAFFIC ON THE WAY to the bar was congested enough to review Yegina’s story twice, once for hopes and once for worries. We lurched to a stop seven or eight times behind the same white van, and each time I couldn’t help thinking that the motion of our car, in this line of cars, echoed my worries tonight, revving and slamming over and over, but never going anywhere.

A few days ago, Yegina had gotten a call from Hal Giroux. He wanted to gauge her interest in applying to be the exhibitions manager for a new downtown museum. A museum bigger and newer than the Rocque, free to all visitors, eclipsing us in every way—programming, architecture, and events. She and Hal talked about the scope of the museum, its funding, potential architects. (“Vera Trudeau is one of the architects on his list. Can you imagine? So dreamy.”) Then Yegina asked about the fate of the Rocque under such a development, and Hal was evasive. “Institutions age,” he told her. “Some fade. New leadership can’t always save them.”

“What should I do?” Yegina said. “I can’t betray Janis. I never liked Hal. Then again, he built LAAC. Can you imagine the city without it? He raised so many generations of talented students.”

I could hear the real reason beneath Yegina’s indecision: if she passed up this chance, she might never get such a big break again.

“Wait,” I suggested. “Don’t say no or yes. Yet.”

“Ha. That strategy went over really well with Hiro.” Yegina sighed. “We’re on hiatus right now. Goth Moth is a free spirit.”

“What does that mean?” I said. “Hooking up with other people?”

Yegina answered by careening around a corner, narrowly missing three pedestrians and an entire strip mall.

“I guess not,” I said, laughing.

She glanced over, her thick makeup hollowing her eyes. I didn’t want to betray Hiro’s visit to my office, but the moment demanded something.

“He cares about you so much,” I ventured. “He’s going to wait for you.”

We were on Melrose now, with its glib store names and fetching, two-story buildings lined up as bright as magnets on a refrigerator.

“Have your night out,” I added. “That’s what you wanted.”

22

YEGINA DONNED HER WINGS, AND I helped her tie the slippery sea-green ribbons. Before we even finished securing them, several people had passed on the crowded sidewalk and made appreciative comments. “Go, Luna,” said one.

“Fairy freaking godmother,” said another, “grant my wish.”

“Ready or not, here’s Goth Moth,” Yegina said, and I took a step back to regard her.