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bury me.”
    “It’s exciting.” Judy pressed her large hands against the surface of the window. It chilled her palms, and her breath made a cloud at the center of the glass. “The first good snow we’ve had this year. Isn’t it a neat feeling?”
    “I have no feelings. I’m too tired to have feelings.”
    “Lighten up, Mare.”
    “I can’t, I’m a Catholic. Who works for Marta Richter.”
    “You mean Marta Erect.” Judy huffed another cloud onto the pane and examined it. “Cool.”
    “If you draw a happy face in that, I’m pushing you out the window.”
    Judy turned and laughed, silver hoops dangling from her earlobes. A peasant dress swirled around strong legs and she was wearing gray wool tights that ended in Dansko clogs. Judy always dressed artsy and not even Marta Richter could bully her out of it. “It was a long, hard trial, and it’s over. Erect will fly away as soon as the jury comes back. She’ll phone in the post-trial motions. You don’t have to take any more orders.”
    “No, she’ll never leave. She’ll never go. She’s not from anywhere and she’ll never go back.”
    Judy shook her head. “What are you talking about, Mare? She’ll go back to her office in New York.”
    “She said L.A. Her main office is in L.A.”
    “The letterhead says New York. I think she’s from New York.”
    “She’s not from New York, she doesn’t have an accent. You ever notice she doesn’t have any accent at all? The secretaries think she went to diction school.”
    “I thought the dictions went to law school.”
    “Be serious.” Mary lifted her weary head from the papers. “We don’t know where she lives. She has houses in Boston, New York, and Florida, I think, but I don’t know where she lives. She never talks about it.”
    “She doesn’t live, she just works. So what?”
    “So we don’t know where she’s from. Who her people are.”
    “Her people?”
    “Her people,” Mary repeated, without elaborating. Judy wouldn’t understand, since she was one of those unfortunates not raised in the Italian neighborhood of South Philly. “We don’t know her family, her religion, anything. She’s Jay Gatsby, the girl version.”
    “Erect? You have her blown all out of proportion. You’re giving her too much power. Erect is a workaholic and a control freak. She screams without cause and laps up publicity like a dog. In other words, she’s a lawyer.”
    “No, think about it. She hasn’t mentioned a single friend. She works alone. We have no idea when her birthday is. Mark my words, she’s not of woman born. It says 666 on her scalp, between her black roots.”
    “You’re out of control. You have trial fever.”
    “Remember, I warned ye. Ye be warned.”
    “You’re nuts.”
    Mary considered this and rejected it. “And why aren’t you tired? We worked this case together. Why am I always tired and you never are?”
    “Because I exercise, doofus. I told you, come with me. I’ll teach you to rock climb.”
    “Forget it.” Mary dropped her head back on the correspondence pillow and wondered when her life started to suck. Their law firm flopped, things with Ned didn’t work out, and just when Mary thought it couldn’t get any worse, Marta Richter hired Rosato & Associates as local counsel.
    “Then come skiing with me.” Judy abandoned the window and plopped back into her chair, swiveling back and forth. “We can go cross-country.”
    “No. Forget it.”
    “You’ll have the time of your life. We’ll go to Valley Forge. It’s beautiful in winter.”
    “George Washington didn’t think so.”
    “Come on, after the verdict’s in. We’ll have a blast.”
    “Shut up. Stop being so cheery.” Mary closed her eyes, and Judy checked her black runner’s watch.
    “It’s almost dinnertime. I’m hungry. You hungry?”
    “No.” Mary opened her eyes a crack, but it was still a law firm and not a bad dream. “I’m never hungry and you always are. I’m always tired and you never