Joey shook Edith’s bony hand. “Joey Abrams. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Lallouche.”

“Call me Edith.” She fingered the flutter sleeve on Joey’s dress. “MISA, yes? It suits you.”

Joey nodded. “Thank you. Your home is beautiful.”

“I don’t believe in false modesty, Joey. That is the first thing you will learn of me. My new home is beautiful. So thank you.”

Joey moved closer to the blank wall. “Is this the wall Lily told me about? Or is it another one?”

“This is the one.”

“Wow. It’s very prominent.”

“Joey, I don’t beat around the bush. I have just one question for you.”

“Just one?” Joey crossed her arms, which felt immediately off, but she didn’t want to uncross them for fear of seeming unsure of herself. “Sure.”

“Do you believe in your art, Joey?”

“Do I believe in…? You’re asking if—”

“I’m asking, do you believe in your art? It’s another way of saying, do you believe in yourself? Because I’ve seen your work. Your sister showed me a snapshot of that canvas with all the abstract evil eyes, different irises, some scary, others sweet. I felt you captured something there. Yes, I go by my instincts in life, Joey, and I have an instinct about you. You are not well known. You are not known whatsoever, is the fact. That doesn’t matter one iota to me. Fame equates to complacency, I tend to think. But I don’t do wishy-washy. I don’t do, Am I good? Am I worthy of this project? I do confidence. I do conviction.”

Joey allowed her arms to drop to her sides. “You know, Edith, if you’d asked me this question two years ago, when I was still a lawyer, I think I would have given you a glossy answer. I would have said, Of course I believe in myself. I’m fabulous, Edith.”

“And I would have seen through it,” said Edith, not insensitively.

Joey nodded. “What I can tell you is I think every person is born with a special way of expressing herself, and this is my way. I snuffed it out for a very long time. And you know what, Edith? Now I’ll bet all my money on me. I’m not yet a success in the art world, and I may never be. But I’ll never stop drawing and I’ll never stop painting. And so, do I believe in myself, Edith? Well, excuse my language, but I really fucking believe in myself. I really do.” Joey spoke so fast at the end that her mouth kept moving with nothing left to come out.

Edith snapped her fingers. “I like you. Done.”

“Done?”

“You have the job. Ten thousand dollars now. Ten thousand when it’s done.” Edith reached into her purse and unveiled a stack of crisp hundreds. “I trust cash is acceptable?”