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evil queen Leonard? And why in the name of Jehovah had I thought black-and-white satin would be suitable for a morning meeting?
    A woman in rollers and Bermudas came out of the import shop and stopped in her tracks, staring. I acknowledged her presence with a tight little smile and a vaguely royal wave. She wasn’t even faintly embarrassed. “You in show business?” she asked.
    “Workin’ on it.” I headed for Arnie’s door like a bat out of hell.
    “The circus?”
    “She was Mr. Woods,” Renee announced grandly.
    “Renee, for God’s sake!”
    Seeing my exasperation, my housemate flushed violently, then turned back to the woman. “We have to go now. We’re late for an appointment with her agent.”
    “He’s not my agent,” I muttered as Renee held the door open for me.
    “Well, whatever.”
    We beat a retreat into a space no larger than our living room. There was a desk with a receptionist, and half a dozen plastic chairs were lined against one wall. A single row of publicity stills was the only thing in sight that kept this from being the waiting room of a veterinarian. I even spotted animals among the glossies: a cowgirl astride a palomino, a cockatoo in drag, a chorus line of poodles. The humans in Arnie’s stable tended to be magicians and clowns and ice skaters and, yes, little people, all of whom seemed to tower over me. No surprises so far.
    The receptionist looked up from her computer. “Cadence Roth?”
    I threw up my hands and grinned at her. “Guilty, Your Honor.”
    She tossed off a look that said to save the cute stuff for the boss. I didn’t hold it against her; the old girl must’ve heard a lot of shtick in her time. I wondered if she might be Mrs. Green. “He’ll be back any minute,” she said. “He’s gone for doughnuts.”
    “No problem.”
    “Did you bring a résumé?”
    I told her I’d already mailed one to Mr. Green.
    “Oh.” She fidgeted among the papers on her desk for a moment, then stopped and said: “Have a seat, please.” Then she turned and addressed Renee, who was gawking at the wall of photographs. “You with her?”
    For a moment I worried that Renee might claim to be my manager. I allow her such indulgences around shop clerks and people in movie lines, but agents are a different matter, even agents like Arnie Green. They could easily start asking things that Renee couldn’t answer. In my scramble to get ready that morning, I hadn’t thought to warn her about this.
    Renee just said yes, though, without embellishing.
    “Coffee?” asked the receptionist. “Either of you?”
    “No, thanks,” said Renee.
    I shook my head, smiling, then hoisted myself onto the sofa, all ass and elbows. I’ve carried out this maneuver most of my life and still can’t find a graceful way to do it.
    “Ooh, look,” said Renee, studying a photograph. “He does Big Bubba.”
    “Really?” I said this as enthusiastically as I could, since the receptionist was watching and I had no earthly idea who—or what—Big Bubba was.
    “We’ve handled him for years,” the lady said.
    “How wonderful,” I said, smiling like the whore I am.
    “You a fan of his?”
    Renee was the one she’d asked, thank God. “Oh, yes!” came the answer.
    “Big,” I told the receptionist. “She’s a big Big Bubba fan.”
    That’s when Arnie came in, toting his bag of doughnuts. I knew it was him right away, since he always puts an ad in the trades for Halloween and he looked just like his photo, skinny and bald and heavily tanned, with big ugly caterpillars of hair crawling out of his ears. Instead of a plaid suit, though, he was wearing pale-blue Sansabelts with a matching golf shirt.
    I scooted off the sofa to give him the full impact of my height.This usually gets the talk going when I meet people for the first time. Plus they’re not as uncomfortable once they see you can walk.
    Arnie bent down to shake my hand. “Miss Roth.” He’d obviously done his homework.
    “Mr.