Liza started to tell Bev about the excellent-quality waitstaff suits but couldn’t find another like the one she’d seen on the Latino man. It was just the type of detail she and her family liked to note. Liza knew what Bev was thinking—that she had taken off work and had missed out on a shift for nothing. Guilt gnawed at her for the twenty dollars she had just spent.

Liza had seen the inside of the Fort Stanton Rec Center gymnasium a hundred times. The place kept a sweaty smell that the planners had attempted to choke into submission with hundreds of floral bouquets. The rug was thick and intricately patterned with red, gold, and black—no doubt rolled out of some dusty broom closet. Liza’s heels drove into the high pile with every step and teetered this way and that. There was a wooden platform with a DJ spinning nineties R and B. He sifted through crates of records, and Liza briefly wondered how anybody working with these developers could have found this legit DJ. He was reading the room, changing vibes according to what people nodded their heads to. He was currently in a Monica four-song set that had Janae and LeDeya screaming into their forks. Liza might actually cut a little rug tonight before she spoke truth to power.

A multicolored light show flashed on and off without the aid of any music, and the chairs were covered in white linen that reflected the lights. The overall effect was like everybody’s cousin’s wedding—you know, the cousin you’re not really close to but you go because you heard there would be shrimp.

Whispers swelled in the corners of the ballroom. She saw a crowd hovering around a small group of people.

The money’s here.

Beverly pushed her way into the throng, grabbing her most beautiful daughter along the way, and then—hastily, as if it were a last-minute decision—grabbed the wrist of her uselessly clever child as well.

“Let’s see what we can fetch in the market,” Liza said.

Janae laughed, then stopped abruptly as she was nearly thrown upon a man who had to be Dorsey Fitzgerald. Younger than she thought, though. Maybe she should have looked him up? Light eyes, light hair, and light smile. To Liza, this Dorsey looked like a boy in men’s clothing. He had the bland charm of a local news anchor. She could see him giving them their traffic on the 12s. His smile turned goofy when his eyes met Janae’s, and he stuttered and fumbled as he presented himself.

“I’m David. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Liza’s brow wrinkled. David? Not Dorsey?

Janae did what she did best, which was sit and look bemused like a cartoon doe while David composed himself enough to talk to her.