‘‘So,’’ I said. Standing. The available chairs being filled. I didn’t go for more. Despite visions of harem girls dancing in my head.

This much glamour doesn’t descend on me without bringing bad, bad news. The kind of news that ends up with me having to go to work.

‘‘Alyx?’’

Now that she was here she didn’t want to talk about her problem.

It happens. People hire me. Then they don’t want to tell me why. Usually because they have to admit having done something incredibly stupid.

Tinnie grinned. That lit up the room. ‘‘What my friend the blond beer bimbo wants to tell you is, her daddy needs to see you. He sent her because he didn’t think you’d open the door to anybody who looked like a wannabe client.’’

Too true. I wasn’t looking for work. I have a regular income from several sources. And work is so much like . . . well, so much like work.

But prospective clients are always bimbos. Er, make that, there’s always a woman involved. As Singe might say, because half of us are female and females are more likely to find themselves in straits nature didn’t equip them to handle.

Singe sucks all the fun out sometimes, being boneheaded, literal, and logical.

2

‘‘Here’s the story,’’ Alyx said. Never an auspicious beginning. People who start that way usually plan on retailing a fictionalized account.

‘‘I’m all ears.’’

‘‘Not quite, but they are a little ridiculous.’’

Two paragons snickered. The redheaded fourth seized the named appendages from behind. ‘‘But they’re so cute!’’

‘‘Spin me your tall tale, baby Weider girl.’’

‘‘Daddy wants to build his own theater.’’

‘‘Good on Max. Theater is hot right now. He’ll milk it for a ton.’’

‘‘We’re gonna be the stars. Us and Cassie Doap. And Heather Soames, maybe.’’