There had been reports. For years. The Rocque building was old by L.A. standards and would need further retrofitting for earthquakes. We just kept vainly hoping that increased donorship and numbers at the box office would boost us to a bigger budget. But a competitor in the same neighborhood could destroy us.

“Janis wants dirt on Hal, and she thinks it’s there. I honestly don’t know if she’s right, Maggie”—he cocked his head—“but I can tell you that I’ve looked into the scholarship recipients in visual arts for the past ten years, and eighty percent are male. Hal Giroux brings in the biggest funders to the college, and they must let him divide the spoils how he wants.”

“Why didn’t she tell me today?” I said, though I knew why.

“I assumed she would,” he said. “I guess she chickened out. Can’t blame her.”

I didn’t know what to say. The idea of Janis seriously ill or dying trumped every other thought I had.

“I know,” said Ray quietly. “It hurts.”

After a moment, he turned up the volume on the stereo. A mournful, soulful singer filled the small box of space around us, her foreign words punctuated by quick, harsh strings. Her voice was unbearably sad. We sat shoulder to shoulder for the whole song, staring at the ghostly windshield and beyond it, into the glittering pattern of red lights on the 405. When the music ended, my heart felt like it had been pummeled.

“Is this what you’re taking us to hear tonight?” My throat was hoarse.

Ray ducked his head. “No, that’s real fado.”

I didn’t know what fado was. “I don’t think I can go to a club right now, Ray.”

Ray sighed.

“You think I don’t care how Janis feels?” he said. “She has her heart set on this whole thing: me investigating in my way, you gathering research for a pitch, everyone working together to find all the angles—”

“She didn’t say that at all,” I said. “That’s not the picture I got.”

“Well, she meant it.”

“No, you mean it,” I said. “That’s different. You’re her contractor; I’m her employee. That’s how she saw my role. I’d take directions from you. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was supposed to fetch you your coffee.” This was going too far, especially after the news, and my mouth went sour, but Ray didn’t contradict me or say anything further. He inched us along the freeway, alert for gaps. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful to him or not.

“I’ll get the first exit,” he said. “Take you home.”

I didn’t want to be home, alone in the woman’s mismatched apartment, with its air of desertion. “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m not doing the gallerina thing. But I’ll go with you tonight.”