Mr. Z offered Rosemary a ride home again, saying he had another errand to run near her house. This time, he took a different, longer route to Santa Claus Lane. They passed the Whole Foods and the Baklava Factory, even the four discount mattress stores on the other side of the freeway. She pretended she didn’t notice.

“Lot of churches around here,” said Mr. Z, like that was funny or strange. Rosemary had no idea how to respond to that.

After several minutes of silence, she said: “Those paintings you showed us, they were really cool.”

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you, calling on you in class.”

“No, it was fine. You just caught me by surprise.”

He gave her a smile so full-bodied it instantly made her feel small and insincere. He looked so kind.

“I wanted to know how you’d be about performing in front of people. You see, I’m thinking of casting you in a play.”

Again, she didn’t know how to respond. Would it be ungrateful to decline the role of the non-speaking maid or the tree? She’d told herself no more shrubbery.

“I want you as the lead.”

“No way.” He had to be kidding her.

“Yes, way!”

“What play is it?”

“A mystery play. I wrote it myself. We’ll stage it around Christmas.”

“A mystery play—like a Nativity play?”

“No, no,” he took a breath. “Mystery as in intrigue and surprise.”

“Oh. And you wrote it?”

“I thought it was probably high time I pulled it out of my drawer and dusted it off. I didn’t think I could do it until I found my leading lady, i.e. you.”

She hadn’t actually heard anyone say the letters i.e. before and suppressed her conditioned impulse to snicker. If only Mira were here.

“So what do I play?” She was almost afraid of his answer. A cat? A tree?

“The femme fatale.”

“What.”

Mr. Z turned his car onto the side street that would turn into Santa Claus Lane. “And just in case you thought I was kidding, we begin rehearsals next week.”

Rosemary kept the red plastic pen she’d stolen from Mr. Z in her underwear drawer. It was a fragile thing of beauty that felt snug in her hand. The clicker released and retracted the nib crisply. And except for the faint USA imprinted on the metal clip and the local 626 area code of the phone number on its body, the pen could have been an artifact from Italy. buca di beppo, una famiglia was printed on it in white.