She directed her Uber driver to the Confluence, one of the current downtown in-spots only two blocks up from the Guardian, on a small side street. Her Uber pulled up to the restaurant with five minutes to spare. Even though it was frigid outside, it was warm inside and the bar bulged with happy hour New Yorkers. The Confluence sported a huge old mahogany bar trucked from a 1920s speakeasy in Chicago. Its specialty was mango-chutney pizza, served up by a waitstaff of mostly flamboyant would-be actors and dancers.

Mia was impressed when she spotted Miles at a booth near the back and wondered how he’d managed to snag that primo spot. She smiled at his wave, thought again he had the air of a wise owl. She wove her way through the happy crowd, everyone forced to speak louder to be heard over the pounding jungle-beat music. Mia had no doubt Miles’s phone call as she was leaving Coach Wiliker’s office to meet him that evening was an assignment from Alex Harrington. Miles was to charm her, pass on some of Alex’s talking points, pump her on what she’d found out in Boston and whether she’d do right by candidate Harrington in her upcoming feature on him. Mia smiled at Miles. This would be fun.

“Mr. Lombardy, good evening.” She began unwinding the scarf around her neck. “Isn’t this a great place? A bit on the noisy side, but who cares? The pizzas are incredible, and the waitstaff will give you a little performance if you ask them. If the music’s not playing too loud, they’ll sing, maybe mime from a show. Cats is always popular, singing and dancing.”

“That sounds like fun. There’s a place in L.A. where all the wannabe actors do the same thing.” He slid out of the booth and helped her off with her coat.

“Thank you. I heard this was your first year in New York,” she said. “How are you surviving our winter?”

He smiled, stuck out his hand, shook hers. “I’m from L.A. where it’s always warm, the sun always shines. You do have to worry about skin cancer from too much sun. I do love the energy of New York, the feel of excitement in the air, but I’ve got to be truthful, I hate the weather.”

“That answers my question.”

“This place is a find. I haven’t been here before. I’ve enjoyed a few places in the Village, but never made it here. Do you think our waiter would dance a Gene Kelly number?”

“I doubt it tonight. Looks like they’re too busy running their feet off to dance and that music is blasting anyway. Please, call me Mia.”

“Mia. And I’m Miles.” Mia slid in, laid her coat beside her.