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if that’s the only way I can get your help, I’ll speak with him. We’ll have to figure out a reason, though, besides my enlisting you to do something he’d never approve if he knew.”

    “We’ll think of something,” she said.

    I knew we would. But I wasn’t exactly excited about talking again, even one more time, with Jeff Hubbard. Maybe I could put it off while Althea worked . . .

    Like forever.

Chapter Four

    “THIS IS UTTERLY amazing,” I stated to Lexie at one o’clock the next afternoon. We sat in my office at the Yurick firm. Although we’d had our usual great time pet-sitting first thing that morning, I hadn’t accomplished a whole heck of a lot of lawyering, since my mind was whirling around what would happen later in the day.

    A piggy audition.

    But before I could pack up my pet paraphernalia and head to the new filming location in Studio City—yes, Dante had come through that fast in booking the perfect spot—I’d gotten an e-mail with an attachment from Glen Elizarian. Dante’s attorney had put together a revised version of our agreement.

    I’d opened it, and had simply stared as I perused it. It looked exactly like what we’d agreed to yesterday. No attorney gamesmanship as I compared it with the prior version and my meeting notes. Fantastic!

    I phoned Glen immediately. I didn’t project my enthusiasm about his excellence in judgment, though. No sense giving the guy more of a swelled head than he already had.

    “It looks acceptable,” I opined. “I’ll go over it with the other members of the LLC later, at the filming. If all goes as I anticipate, I’ll get their signatures then.”

    “Good,” Glen said. “Dante’s ready to execute, too. He’ll be there, so we can put this puppy to bed. So to speak.” He talked a slangy sort of legalese, but must have figured someone with my canine connections would assume he meant genuine puppies.

    “Great.” As I hung up, I remembered the other thing this meant: I might be committed to having dinner tonight with Dante. I’d told him I’d do it again once we had a signed contract.

    How did I feel about that? It had been on my mind a lot, but I couldn’t state my opinion with certainty. No matter. For now, I had potbelly pig auditions to attend.

    One more call before we left—to my friend and piggy expert, Avvie Milton. She’d been an associate at my former law firm of Marden, Sergement & Yurick. She still was, although it was now just Marden & Sergement. Bill Sergement, the senior partner who’d seduced first me, then her, had recently dropped her in favor of his wife. Right now, I figured Avvie wasn’t long for that firm.

    “Hi,” I said when she answered her cell phone. “You on your way?”

    “I sure am. I wouldn’t miss this experience.”

    “But you still don’t want to enter Pansy in the audition?”

    “Nope,” she said. “It would be unfair competition. I’m friends with the management—that means you. Plus I know some of your other friends. And . . . you want to know the main reason?”

    “What’s that?” I inquired.

    “My potbellied pig is the smartest of all, and she’d win no matter who else is there. That’s what would really make it unfair.”

    I laughed as I hung up, but couldn’t disagree. I’d met Pansy. Had pet-sat for her a few times. Had seen how smart she’d gotten as she grew bigger, the amazing tricks she picked up awfully fast. It might indeed skew the competition to toss her into the mix.

    I peeked into elder partner Elaine Aames’s office to exchange goodbyes with her—and with Gigi, the Blue and Gold Macaw. I waved at the Yurick firm staff as I hurried out the door.

    Then, I drove my ugly little rental car east from Encino, toward Studio City.

    Do you get the impression I wasn’t happy with my ride? I was narrowing down the search for a replacement for my beloved but totaled BMW. I couldn’t afford a new Beamer without a lot of economic pain, and the lovely sedan