Rain passed the stainless steel pitcher of milk and I added enough to turn the coffee beige. We introduced ourselves properly and then chatted about nothing in particular, which gave her a chance to study me while I made a study of her. She had the fresh look of youth. Her complexion was clear and her features were delicate. She had Betty Boop lips and hair like a cloud of platinum-blond frizz, bobbed level with her ears. Discreet pearl-and-diamond earrings caught the light. She wore jeans and a gossamer white shirt over a white lace camisole, a combination more elegant than I’d have imagined. Two booths over, a busboy wiped down the table with his eyes pinned on her, as though she might be a celebrity.

“Have you ordered yet?” I asked.

“I was waiting for you.”

The waitress returned with her order pad in hand. I asked for a small tomato juice, rye toast, and a soft-boiled egg. Rain ordered the breakfast special. When the meal came I watched her work her way through orange juice, scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon, link sausages, and buttered biscuits with strawberry jam. Though she ate as rapidly as I did, I finished first, leaving her with two biscuits to go.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’ll be twenty-five in July. Why?”

“Please tell me you don’t eat like that and then go to the ladies’ room and barf it all up again.”

“And waste all this food? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“No laxatives? Ipecac? Finger down your throat?”

She laughed. “I’ve got the metabolism of a bird.”

“That’s what the skinny actresses say to cover up their eating disorders.”

“Not me. In my teens I had migraines and I barfed enough for a lifetime. I admit I was pretty good at it, but eating’s too much fun.”

“Can I ask you about your father’s business? Deborah says you took over after he died.”

“I did. He was actually my grandfather, as I’m sure you know, but I called him Daddy because that’s what he was to me. He owned a plant in downtown L.A., manufacturing sports uniforms. Later, he created a line of foul-weather gear—raincoats, rain hats, anoraks, rain jackets, slickers, umbrellas . . .”

I stared at her. “Are you talking about Rain Checks?”

“That’s him.”

“You’re kidding. You’re the ‘Rain’ in Rain Checks?”

“Yep.”

“How did he come up with the idea when California has so little rainfall? What is it, fifteen days a year?”