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Dina,” Linda answered. “I always have a hard time with them.”
    “Well, you are wearing a badge,” Dina said. Her lovely smile brought grins to all of us.
    “You mentioned being from Venice,” I said. “What brings you to New Mexico?”
    “Oh, yes. The opera. I performed here last summer and loved this city very much. I wanted to come back at a time when I did not include work.”
    “You’re an opera singer?” My preconceived picture of heavyset women with large mouths and huge bosoms went out the window. Dina probably weighed one-fifteen on a bad day and stood no more than five-four. It was hard to imagine lusty vocalizations coming from her petite little self.
    “It is true,” she said. “People say I do not look the part. But what can I say?” She shrugged and picked up her fork. “I am a singer since childhood. A professional for twenty years.”
    “What’s your main interest in the program here?” Linda inquired.
    “My health. You see, my mother died last year from breast cancer. It is in our family. I think if I can study healthy ways to eat and ways to relieve the stress of my travel, maybe I can have a better chance.”
    “That’s a very smart idea,” Linda said.
    “And you?” Dina asked. “You told us last night you are a doctor. So you are here for Dr. Light’s medical presentations?” When Linda nodded, Dina turned to me.
    “Me? Oh, well . . .” I shouldn’t admit that I got talked into the whole thing. I peeled the paper from my muffin and broke it in half.  “I’d like to learn more about all of it. And I must say that the massages and spa treatments sound like they’ll be wonderful.”
    “Oh, sì, d’accordo. ” She popped the last of her strawberries into her mouth.
    I’d managed to polish off the whole bran muffin and my bowl of fruit. “Guess it’s about time to report to class, ladies.”
    We pushed back from the table and started toward the main lobby. As we crossed it, a man dressed all in black came through the front entrance, two deferential younger men at his side. Through the glass doors I could see a stretch limo with its doors standing open. Emerging from the limo stepped a woman with the distinct look of a secretary and another wearing jeans that barely concealed her pubic area and very high stiletto heels—obviously not a secretary. A chauffer was pulling suitcases—a number of them—from the trunk of the large black car.
    The man in black turned to one of his gofers and said, “Take care of things, will you, Pete? Get everyone settled.”
    Pete didn’t look as if he had any choice in the matter. He headed toward the desk.
    “Now where the hell’s this meeting supposed to be?” The man at the center of things gazed around the lobby. His gelled black hair stood in spikes, carefully arranged to look like it had not been arranged. His thin face was somehow familiar, yet not.
    “Who’s—” I whispered to Linda.
    “The rock star, Rex Storm,” she mumbled back.
    Whoa. His face clearly showed the ravages of the good life. I tried to remember the last time I’d caught a look at him on TV. Maybe five or six years ago. Deep lines now etched the corners of his mouth and gravity had begun its takeover. His scrawny frame clad in skin-tight black jeans and silky black shirt open nearly to the waist made him look like a fifty-year-old trying to be twenty. As I recalled, he was younger than my brother, putting him at about thirty-five. Drugs, booze and the high life, I guessed.
    A cell-phone cheeped and he pulled the tiny instrument from a pocket in his black leather jacket. Although his voice carried clearly and he made a big point of revealing that it was his agent on the line, Linda, Dina and I ignored him and headed across the lobby toward the vestibule where we were to check in for our classes.
    “Is he attending our seminar?” I asked once we were out of earshot.
    “Afraid so,” Linda said. “I saw his name on the list but didn’t really believe