She steps into her office, shuts the door, sinks into her chair, and kicks off her heels. Maybe Bayard is right. Maybe it’s time to think about retiring. Why is it that everything feels like it’s coming to an end? She’s been working special events in one capacity or another for almost forty years, ever since Tina got her a job staffing the information desk at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. The young people who work for Sherri now expect raises and promotions before their butts have worn grooves in their office chairs. Sherri had to claw her way up to special events after paying her dues in HR, the budget office, and marketing, all while raising a kid and attending night classes. They have no idea.

She checks her phone. She missed a call from Tina, who calls her all the time. Her friend is constantly on the road and feels naked without her Bluetooth headset in her ear. Sherri dials her back. They speak so often that they don’t even bother to say hello.

“I can’t name names,” Tina says, “but let’s just say my potential new client is an actor in a Marvel movie. He thinks he can get over six million bucks for his house. The guy is interviewing every Realtor in LA until he can find someone to agree with him. He’s like a patient with a terminal disease in the seeking phase, going from doctor to doctor, hoping to find someone who’ll tell him he’s fine. At first I thought, well, maybe the young stud can get that much. He’s got a great location in Malibu, halfway up Clifftop. I’m walking around taking inventory. Pool is nice, a little old-timey, you know, not an infinity but OK, big bedrooms, lots of closet space, mostly decent view, some good landscaping. So what’s the problem? I don’t see mold, mudslides, termites, the usual. But then he takes me downstairs to the lower level and Sher, the guy has built a secret apocalypse vault. You have to tap the floor and drop into it through a trapdoor with a rope ladder. No windows. He’s got four walk-in freezers stuffed with wild game, machetes hanging on hooks, a gun cabinet. A whole camo wardrobe. This guy has a hard-on for the apocalypse, like it would be the best thing that could ever happen to him. I either need to find a buyer who’s an end-timer or have him gut the whole thing. And get this: he thinks it’s a selling point.”

“So what’d you do?”

“I tell him sure, I can get you more than six. And maybe I can. Just takes one crazy buyer. But anyway, when do you leave for Wisconsin? Is it this weekend already?”