She walked into my office after five. After the sun goes down below the Chrysler Building and Janine goes home to her cat and her book and her curlers. She walked in like she had already hired me and I was late getting back to her. Her face was obscured by her hat and the shadows from the Venetian blinds, but the rest of her wasn't, sliding past oak desk chairs and overflowing wire trash bins in a silky black dress and gams that wouldn't quit. "What's your name, doll?"
"Pinot Noir."
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