Anne Kelley was on the phone, and she didn’t look happy. Her long face was drawn further down in a frown. Her short hair was not quite blond, not quite silver, not quite brown, not quite combed or brushed. She wore a silk shirt under a denim jacket. A cigarette in the comer of her mouth puffed like a smokestack from a factory.

“I don’t care,” she was saying into the phone. “I don’t care… . So let her… Fine. We’ll get somebody else.”

She hung up the phone, took a drag on the cigarette, and then snuffed it out.

“Could you be a real lifesaver and get me a Diet Pepsi?” she said to Collier. “You guys want anything?”

An oxygen tank, thought Neal.

A vacuum cleaner, thought Graham.

They shook their heads.

Jim Collier sprang up to get the soda. Anne came around from the desk and shook hands with Neal and Graham.

“I’m Anne Kelley, head of Creative.”

Nice work if you can get it, thought Neal.

Anne dropped into a chair across the coffee table from them. “You don’t mind if we don’t start until the Diet Pepsi comes, do you?”

Lady, I don’t mind if we don’t start at all, Neal thought.

“Take your time,” Graham said.

Jim came back with the soda, opened it, handed it to Anne, and took a chair in the corner. He flipped open a pad and had his pencil poised, ready to take notes.

In case Anne said something creative? Neal wondered.

Anne took a long gulp out of the can, sighed with relief, then turned her attention to Neal and Graham.

“So pitch,” she said.

Graham looked at Neal and shrugged.