“Have a nice day, Ms. Grant,” he says, and then disappears as the elevators close. I ring the doorbell of Evelyn’s apartment at eleven A.M. on the dot. A woman in jeans and a navy blouse answers. She looks to be about fifty, maybe a few years older. She is Asian-American, with straight jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail. She’s holding a stack of half-opened mail. She smiles and extends her hand. “You must be Monique,” she says as I hold out my own. She seems like the sort of person who genuinely delights in meeting other people, and I already like her, despite my strict promise to myself to remain neutral to everything I encounter today. “I’m Grace.” “Hi, Grace,” I say. “Nice to meet you.” “Likewise. Come on in.” Grace steps out of the way and beckons to invite me in. I put my bag on the ground and take off my coat. “You can put it right in here,” she says, opening a closet just inside the foyer and handing me a wooden hanger. This coat closet is the size of the one bathroom in my apartment. It’s no secret that Evelyn has more money than God. But I need to work at not letting that intimidate me. She’s beautiful, and she’s rich, and she’s powerful and sexual and charming. And I’m a normal human being. Somehow I have to convince myself that she and I are on equal footing, or this is never going to work. “Great,” I say, smiling. “Thank you.” I put my coat on the hanger, slip it over the rod, and let Grace shut the closet door. “Evelyn is upstairs getting ready. Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea?” “Coffee would be great,” I say. Grace brings me into a sitting room. It is bright and airy, with floor-toceiling white bookcases and two overstuffed cream-colored chairs. “Have a seat,” she says. “How do you like it?” “My coffee?” I ask, unsure of myself. “With cream? I mean, milk is fine, too. But cream is great. Or whatever you have.” I get hold of myself.