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someone sent me. It was called ‘Your Doom.’ Can you imagine? Like a Gypsy curse out of nowhere.”
    “Sounds fishy,” Ben said. “They don’t cut off your email because of something that’s been sent to you. Did you click on any attachments?”
    “Well, no. The mention of my doom scared the hell out of me. Was I wrong? Should I have clicked?”
    “No, just delete it. It’s probably carrying a virus itself. They’re trying to scare you so you’ll do what they want.”
    “How wicked,” she said. “Like the president.”
    “Yes,” said Ben. “Except no one’s dead yet.”
    Anna smiled at him appraisingly, then turned and looked at me, widening her eyes. “This boy’s a treasure, dear.”
    I told her I knew that already.
    “Well, aren’t you glad I made you go after him?”
    “Oh,” I said, teasing her. “You want credit now?”
    “It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” She dunked her chicken skewer into the peanut sauce.
    “Well, I’m grateful,” said Ben.
    “Thank you, child. You get some more Pad Thai.”
    “It’s delicious,” I said, grateful for a chance to change the subject. I’ve always been uneasy about proclaiming my bliss too confidently, for fear of it deserting me—as fucked-up as that sounds. “Where did it come from?”
    “A new little place down the street. Shawna told me about it.”
    “God,” I said. “What doesn’t that girl know about?”
    “She’s just interested, ” Anna said. “That goes a long way in this world.”
    She meant it only as a compliment to Shawna, but somehow I felt reprimanded for my failure to be more adventurous.
    “Michael went down to the Lusty Lady,” Ben offered.
    Anna blinked at him in confusion.
    “You know,” said Ben. “The strip joint Shawna’s writing about.”
    “Oh, yes!” Anna crowed. “I can’t wait for that one. She’s always so sharp and funny. And she gets so involved, doesn’t she?”
    “I’ll say,” I muttered.
    Anna dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “You sound like you don’t approve, dear.”
    “It’s not a question of approval,” I told her. “I’m just concerned.”
    “Oh dear, that was Brian’s line, too. You boys are being silly. She’s an extremely sensible girl. What she’s doing now is just…raw material…not a way of life.”
    “Gimme a break,” I said. “She’s diddling herself in a plywood cubicle.”
    “Oh,” said Anna, remaining deadpan. “And you never did that, I suppose?”
    Ben chuckled. “She’s on to you, baby.”
    “That wasn’t for money,” I shot back. “And I wasn’t dressed as a Catholic schoolgirl.”
    Both of them were laughing now, and not entirely with me. “Oh, well,” said Anna, winking at Ben. “Thank God he has standards.”
    It’s awful when young and old alike can team up to mock you.
     
    After dinner Jake Greenleaf joined us in the garden. Jake, you may recall, is my sometime assistant. He’s a short, stocky bear of thirty or thereabouts with a trim little beard and soulful gray eyes. I brought him into the family four or five years ago, when I was still single, having picked him up at the Lone Star Saloon one night. Though he lives upstairs from Anna in another apartment, he comes and goes freely as a helpmate.
    Appearing on the terrace that night, Jake looked like someone from another era—my own, in fact—in loose khakis with wide suspenders and a flannel shirt. The effect of this mining-camp getup is just as deliberate as Jake’s rusticated name. Both were chosen to suggest the strong, earthy, no-nonsense person he intended to become.
    “You guys wanna vaporize?” he said, holding up a wooden box from which a plastic hose dangled like an umbilical cord. Vaporizers, for the uninitiated, are designed to heat cannabis just enough to release its psychoactive ingredients but not enough to create harmful respiratory toxins—i.e., smoke. They’re all the rage now among the health conscious and the elderly. The ordinary kind is sold