He concluded by saying, with the most confident smile he could muster, “Whatever I say to you up in your apartment, just react as though you really believe it. Stay as close to your real feelings as you can. Just relax and react. Okay?”

“I guess.”

“And just one more thing. Have your cell phone handy and ready to use. At some point I’ll signal you to call my number to make my phone ring, and then I’ll go through my fake conversation with Clinter. Whatever facts have to be invented, I’ll invent them. Afterwards, you just play yourself. React the way you normally would. That’s all there is to it.” He gave her a wink and a thumbs-up. Then he wished he hadn’t. He was embarrassed by the phony bravado.

She swallowed hard, opened the door into the tiny vestibule, then unlocked the door of her apartment. She led him down the narrow hall to the living room. He looked around at the futon couch, the cheap coffee table, the pair of worn armchairs, each partnered with a flimsy floor lamp. It was all as he remembered it, right down to the dirt-colored rug that was frayed in the middle.

“Go ahead, have a seat, Dave. I’ll just be a minute,” said Kim, her voice only slightly strained, as it might be from a difficult day. She walked down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door loudly.

He paced around the room, cleared his throat a few times, sat down noisily on the couch. A few minutes later, she returned. They both laid their cell phones on the table.

“So … can I offer you a drink or something?”

“I am thirsty. What do you have?”

“Anything you want.”

“Uh, maybe just some juice or something. If you have it.”

“I think I can manage that. Give me a sec.” She went back down the hall to the kitchen. He heard glasses banging against each other, the sink tap going on and off.

She returned with two empty water glasses. She handed him one, clinked hers against it, and said, “Cheers.” She sat down on the couch, turning sideways to face him.

“Cheers to you, too. I see you’re drinking wine. Something to make you feel better about the RAM deal.”

She let out a loud sigh. “That whole situation is a nightmare.”

Gurney cleared his throat. “Television is television, I guess.”

“You saying I should be thrilled to work with Rudy, the slimebag?”

“Not necessarily thrilled,” said Gurney. “But there is your future to think about.”

“I’m not sure I want that kind of future. Why?” she said with a half-jesting edge in her voice. “Are you interested in chasing that opportunity Getz dangled to host your own show?”