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is, to my good fortune, a buyer for Calvin Klein. Klein was starting a half-price sale tomorrow and if you added in Mary’s discount, they were practically giving the clothes away. By going in a day early, I’d get first pick. Mary had convinced me that I needed a new wardrobe for my trip, and even though Insanity never complained about what I wore, I thought she might be right.
    The extra few morning hours gave me time to blow-dry my hair and work the waves into something that resembled a “style.” I put on makeup, concentrating on my eyes according to Mary’s directions. Since we wouldn’t be frying or roasting, I wouldn’t leave the studio smelling like a greasy-spoon short-order cook. So I decided to go all out for my trip to CalvinKlein’s. I put on a sheer silk Chloé shirt with a thin white jersey camisole underneath. The shirt was a pale, pale blue and I had just the right short Max Mara sateen skirt in a gray blue to go with it. There’s nothing sweeter than a Bergdorf’s designer sale. I slipped on a new pair of amazing Sergio Rossi suede mules with low heels and pointy toes. Mary would be impressed. I packed some of Mom’s cannoli in a white pastry box to bring to the kitchen staff, and headed to the studio.
    When I stepped out of the subway, four blocks from the studio, it was pouring rain. Did they say rain on the news? No one said rain on the news. You were supposed to say it was going to rain if it was going to rain. I tried to hug the buildings, but everyone on my side of the street was going the other way, and I kept getting pushed to the outside. By the time the truck splashed water all over me at the corner, I had given up trying to keep myself or my box of pastries dry.
    I arrived at the studio with my hair and clothes soaking wet and watched the water as it dripped onto the floor just inside the studio door. My lovely white pastry box was now a dull, wet gray. Looking like hell is the same as feeling like shit. I went directly to the kitchen, hoping the Tonys had remembered to restack the drawer with clean dish towels. There was an unfamiliar stagehand sitting on the counter, drinking coffee and doing the
Times
crossword puzzle. Give me a break! They
are
given work sheets when they arrive in the morning. This was unacceptable—and a sitting duck for venting my annoyance.
    “Good morning, uh, I’m going to guess Tony, but if it wasn’t it is now because that’s all we’re used to. So, Tony, why don’t you get that well-toned butt off the counter and at least
try
to look busy.”
    “Hmm. Me mam never said anything about Tony. She said she thought about Sean and Bryan before naming me Daniel,but I’ll answer to Tony if that’s what you like.” The brogue was soft but undeniable. “As for the ‘well-toned’ observation, thank you. I’m on me feet a lot and I think that helps.” He was obviously amused by my crankiness because his blue eyes were laughing at me as he slid off the counter. “And I’ll be happy to look busy if you’ll tell me what it is you think I should be doing.”
    I opened my mouth to explain but nothing came out. I was having trouble extracting my expensive new Sergio Rossi shoe from it. And even if I did, I couldn’t think of an explanation other than “I’m the kitchen witch.” So I said nothing and just stood there dripping with my mouth wide open.
    He extended his hand. “Danny O’Shea. You’ll catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that.”
    I closed my mouth. I was still holding the box, and when I turned to put it on the counter to free my hands, the wet bottom gave out, dispersing a shower of pastry, ricotta, and tiny chocolate chips in a cloud of powdered sugar at my feet. I ignored them.
    “You must be Casey. A girl with a purple streak in her hair told me to look for a tall, pretty lass who’d be eating a dozen pastries in the kitchen. Seems to be you.”
    “I am not eating pastries.”
    “Some of them look to be in good form.” He