“I know. Hold on again,” I said and pulled on the suit jacket. The ensemble fit perfectly. It hugged my shoulders, my waist, my hips. It defined me. I stared at my smooth, elegant self.

“Where are you?” said Yegina’s voice.

The clerk, sounding very close, said, “How are things?”

“Wonderful,” I said. “I’ve just tried on the green one, but you got the right size.”

“You’re shopping? You?” said Yegina.

I named the boutique.

“Damn,” said Yegina. “But what about the meeting with Janis?”

I told her in my quietest tones about what I’d learned at Café Francesca. “I said no. It’s not the right opportunity for me.”

I waited for a plethora of questions, but instead Yegina went silent. “You said no to Janis?” she said after a moment. “She was offering you paid time off and free designer suits to do her a little favor.”

If I revered Janis, then Yegina worshipped her. But still. There was something extra in her voice. A thin wire of anxiety that I’d never heard before.

“It’s more than a favor, and I’m not the right person for it,” I said. “And now I have this interview tomorrow anyway.” I told her how easily the actress and I had fallen into conversation, how much there was to discuss about her next role, but as I was speaking, I saw Brenae on the bed, her slack mouth jiggling as the man thrust into her. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and the suit suddenly felt slick and heavy.

The clerk’s shadow passed beyond the curtain. “Let me know what else I can find for you,” she said.

I undressed clumsily, still holding the phone. “I will.”

“I want to see the play,” said Yegina. “Maybe if you sell the story, we could fly to New York and get tickets. Just us two.”

“It’s a deal,” I promised, wondering why she still sounded upset. Was her family okay? Fine. Hiro? Great. He was flying to D.C. to meet her. I asked her what question she thought was most important for me to pose to the actress.

“Why don’t you ask her what her dream role is?” she said. “That says a lot about a person. Even if they don’t know.”

“Should I really buy this?” I said, transfixed by the olive suit. “Should I try it on again to make sure?”

“Of course you should,” said Yegina. “And try it on again at home.”

Only on the drive back did I wonder what my own dream role was, and if Yegina had meant for me to turn the question on myself.