She caught a glimpse of herself in a window, small and quick, a little too round, jeans and a T-shirt, her hair a jumble down her back. She had been growing it for five years and had no plans to cut it. Had had no plans; if this thing with the Bragg documentary actually happened—please God—she’d have to rethink that.

Someday soon she would open a door and he would be there, and she would have to hold out her hand and smile and be adult.

It would probably be best to cut her hair.

The law offices were two small rooms above Mrs. Romero’s shoe store. Angie ran up the stairs and into the outer office. She nodded to Marlene, who was typing so fast that her purple nails clattered on the keys like castanets. Marlene squinted at Angie from the cloud of smoke that surrounded her head, wiggled her cigarette in greeting, and turned back to the computer screen as Angie knocked on the inner office door and went in.

Ford looked up from the papers in front of him and smiled. He had an endearing smile, sweet and willing, and she warmed to it every time. They had dated for a little while, until Angie faced the fact that the best she would ever be able to say about Ford was that she liked him just fine.

He said, “I thought you’d be here a half hour ago. Lasagna?”

“Chicken and gravy,” Angie said, tossing the envelope onto his desk.

“That’s right,” he said. “It’s Wednesday.” He slipped the sheets out and made a fan of them on the desk. “So this is it, huh? The big offer?”

“That’s it,” Angie agreed as she fell into a chair. “If there’s something wrong with this contract, Rivera and Tony will slit my throat. So tell me it’s all good, please.”

“They signed it already,” Ford said, vaguely disapproving.

“Hope springs eternal. I’m supposed to send it off right away if everything’s in order.”

A half hour later Ford cleared his throat and Angie, who had been sure she would never sleep again, bolted up out of a dozy daydream.

“Somebody down there in Georgia must love you,” Ford said.

Angie jumped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ford couldn’t have looked more startled if she had slapped him. “It looks good,” he said. “They used the Guild contract and didn’t mess with it. Credits, residuals, it’s all here.”

Angie relaxed back into the chair, trying for nonchalant and coming no closer than embarrassed. “It’s solid?”

His eyes were still moving back and forth on the page. “Looks like it,” Ford said. “Nobody down there is trying to screw you, at least not at first reading.”

“Pardon me?” she said faintly.