Nona had just completed the call. She jumped up to embrace Darcy. “A green thumb I have not.” She was wearing a khaki wool jumpsuit that faithfully followed the lines of her small frame. A narrow leather belt with a white-gold clasp sculpted in the form of linked hands cinched her waist. Her medium-blond hair, streaked with touches of gray, was blunt-cut and barely reached her chin. Her animated face was interesting rather than pretty.

Darcy was glad to see that the pain in Nona’s dark brown eyes had been almost completely replaced by an expression of wry humor. Nona’s recent divorce had hit her hard. As she put it, “It’s traumatic enough turning forty without your husband bumping you for a twenty-one-year-old nymphet.” “I’m running late,” Nona apologized. “We’re meeting Erin at seven?” “Between seven and seven-fifteen,” Darcy said, her fingers itching to skim the dead leaves from the plant.

“Fifteen minutes to get over there, provided I throw myself in front of an empty cab. Terrific. There’s one thing I’d like to do before we go. Why don’t you come with me and witness the compassionate side of television.” “I wasn’t aware it had one.” Darcy reached for her shoulder bag.

All the offices rimmed a large central area which was crowded with secretaries and writers at their desks. Computers hummed and fax machines clattered. At the end of the room, an announcer was on camera giving a news update. Nona waved a general greeting as she passed. “There isn’t a single unattached person in that maze who isn’t answering the personal ads for me. As a matter of fact, I suspect there are some supposedly attached guys who are also quietly getting together with an intriguing box number.”