“You chose compressed disappointment.”
Rachel pressed the return button three times. The machine remained unmoved.
Sophie sat on a folding chair beside the studio door, reading the interview notes on her tablet. Since the meetingwith Richard, she had developed a color-coded system. Music questions were green, personal but manageable questions were yellow, and anything the host had agreed not to ask was marked red.
The page contained enough red to suggest a difficult autopsy.
“This is the last contracted interview,” Sophie said. “After this, you have sound check, the show, and forty-five minutes at the after-party. Then five days with no scheduled obligations.”
Rachel gave the vending machine one final look.
“I’m bringing tools next time.”
“There is no next time,” I said. “We are retiring from radio-station cuisine.”
“You are resting for five days.”
“That is practically a sabbatical.”
Sophie looked up.
“It will feel longer if you spend it sending me messages about whether flight attendants count as journalists.”
“She recognized me while controlling the beverage cart. The power dynamic was unclear.”
Rachel sat beside me.
“What are you doing with the five days?”
“Nothing.”
“You have said that for a week, and it has not become more convincing.”
“I intend to become highly accomplished at nothing.”
“Where?”
“I own a house.”
“You dislike your house.”
“I dislike that every room looks as though an interior designer expects to return and evaluate me.”
“You approved the furniture.”
“I was shown samples during a sound check. I may have approved an ottoman while someone tested pyrotechnics.”
Sophie returned to the notes.
“The host is Daniel Price. You have met before.”
“He asked whether I wroteHard Winterabout Luke Harper.”
“Half the country believed you were dating Luke Harper.”
“Half the country received assistance.”
Her gaze paused on the screen.
