“Virginia Woolf’s girlfriend, yes? Lived in a castle? There. I’ve run out of knowing about her.”

“Woolf was just one in a long string of willing victims. Vita was a serial cad. It’s a good story. Lauren Mott wrote the play and so Molly Cracciolo is directing. They both liked what you did for Marie Curie. They wonder if you could come out and talk with them about doing the sets.” This is one of the eerie aspects of theater. You never know who’s blowing through town, dropping in on your play.

“Well, Jesus. I’m flattered to be called. They’re my idols,” Cate says. “Ever since Gauntlet.” Cate stands in awe of art that can work people into a lather of love and hate. That would be every one of Lauren Mott’s plays.

“Well here’s your shot at working with them. I’ll send you the script. We’ll need ideas for four sets. Just as a way of starting the conversation. They’ll be talking with a couple of other designers, so it’s a tryout of sorts, but a friendly one.”

She thinks, this is how the wind shifts. “Sure. I can push some other stuff out of the way.” This other stuff is pure invention. She has no further commitments, no employment for the foreseeable future. She was just about to hit up her father for a “loan.” She knows he will never turn her down. Because he loves her, but also because of her hand. She hates using this, even though it’s only ever tacit. But she does do it. If she actually gets this job, and the play goes big and that gets her more work with these two icons—

She’s way ahead of herself.