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please.”
    “So,” I said, “can you expand on the idea of ‘whereabouts’?”
    “Stand, please, and walk in circles for me.”
    I walked and Donatella talked. “Many trainees,” she said, “come from countries with no infrastructure, so our freeways present a challenge. We haven't time for driving lessons. Those that do drive present a different challenge.”
    “The Miss Lemon factor?”
    “Precisely. When Miss Lemon first sued us, Yuri created the positionof social coach, to teach the proper dating rituals of the United States and to eliminate the need for the trainees to drive. Also, the insurance agent now insists upon it.”
    “Okay, but I'm not quite clear—what does dating have to do with driving?”
    “Nothing. Nevertheless, your job is to date them and also to drive them.”
    “Where?”
    “Wherever they wish to go. But we keep them very busy. You may stop walking, thank you.” She turned to her computer and typed.
    “How's my walk?” I said.
    “We will work on it.” She glanced at me, squinted, then turned and typed some more. “Tall, small head, big feet, and large breasts. Nice ears.”
    “Thank you.” No one had ever complimented my ears.
    “With you, the challenge is the breasts. With breasts, sexy is easy. Here, we project class. That, not so easy.”
    “That sounds good,” I said. “Class.”
    “It will be done, but it will not be cheap. And Yuri needs you up to speed tomorrow.”
    “What's tomorrow?”
    “DOA. Day of arrival. The first of the trainees arrive at LAX. The last ones come in the following day. Instantly, we begin the training. This is an intensive course, for you as well, so you must stay hydrated. Kimberly will work with you, so you will be in good shape, which is also important. Not as important as Americans believe, but some exercise is okay.”
    “I'm expected to … exercise?” I said.
    Donatella nodded. “Kimberly is the finest personal trainer in L.A.”
    “Wow. That's like saying someone's the finest chef in Paris.”
    “Los Angeles
magazine put her in the ‘Best of L.A.’ issue five years in a row.”
    I was feeling less qualified by the minute. “I should tell you that my car's pretty ratty, if I'm to be driving people around.”
    “Oh, we give you a car to drive. When do you move in? Tonight?”
    “Move in?”
    “Did Yuri not tell you? Bad Yuri. You will live in the house with the trainees.”
    “I'm supposed to live … on campus? So to speak?”
    “Exactly.” Donatella looked pleased. “House of Blue, Alik has named it. He also lives there. You have not met Alik, I think. He is Yuri's son.”
    “But I have an apartment, and my stuff is—”
    “You are not to worry, Yuri will work it all out. You must live here, or you will never sleep. Already you will need to be in three places at once most of the time. You will see. We will forward your mail and even your telephone number, if you wish.”
    This new wrinkle was disturbing. If I lived here and worked here, what would become of the rest of my life? What would Bennett Graham think? And Simon?
    Parashie came in, arms filled with clothes, which she hung on ornamental hooks.
    “The Sonia Rykiel is good,” Donatella said, inspecting a suit. “Where is the Ungaro?”
    “With the exaggerated lapels?” Parashie asked.
    “Yes.”
    Parashie looked surprised. “But—it's been worn. Remember? She wore it to the HELP Foundation lunch.”
    “So? Only one time. Did she spill consommé on it?”
    “No, but—” Parashie glanced at me, then away. “Is that … okay? I mean—”
    “What is the problem? Does it need dry-cleaning?”
    “The clothes belong to someone else?” I asked.
    “Yes and no,” Donatella said. “They were purchased only last month for Chai, who was on the team for the last two training groups. Most have not been to the tailor yet. Parashie, do not be silly. We have a sixteen-hundred-dollar pearl-gray Ungaro that will look better on this woman than it did on Chai.