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then spreading slowly into an open V. He held that position while all around Eve the air was filled with a discussion of her attribute catalog, known qualities and values. The number of hits generated when googling the phrase “I love Eve Latour,” 837,578 as of that morning.
    She was pulled back into the room, where Ganesh gave her two thumbs up. By the time she was able to check back out the window, the parapet was empty. And Eve’s heart was instantly racing. She heaved up halfway out of her chair, about to bolt to the window, thinking that he must have fallen. Then she noticed that the young man’s knapsack was also gone and she sank back into her chair.
     
    MARCUS WALKED HER TO THE ELEVATOR, then rode down with her. He said: “Take time. Talk to Nick.”

    “I’m a little unsure.”
    “We won’t push.”
    She finally let go the laugh. It cracked the air in the elevator. The Double Vision founding partner did not startle or wince. He laughed too. He was a natural.
    She said: “I guess I’m having a mixed reaction. Licensing. Buying the rights to a part of my life story, to copy and reproduce. To sell. Is it just me or is that weird?”
    She had words streaming through. Movieland. Brands. Messages. Promises. Values.
    Finally she said: “I find it weird.”
    “Weird or threatening?” Marcus asked her.
    Which was also insightful. At this point, Geneva was no longer a story she controlled, but the edited footage made it seem a thing over which she had never been in control. That, in turn, cast her future in a questionable light.
    “Threatening,” Eve said, relieved to say it.
    “Think of magazines and newspapers. You give them interviews.”
    She nodded. Not so often anymore. But when they asked, she did.
    “So you let them have your story. It’s the same transaction that we’re proposing. Just a different medium.”
    She was watching the numbers click. Six, five, four. This calm voice from the space just to her right. “The journalist asks you: Evey, where were you born?”
    The elevator dinged arrival at the lobby. He held the door with a large white palm, then stepped out with her into the wide, shining room. Through high glass doors she saw the buses and traffic cones, the trenched-out sewer works of Jeffers Avenue which led up to the plaza.
    “You say: I was a kid from the East Shore. Right? But I’d come across town and troll the Heights with my brother, Ali. We’d take pictures with an old camera we found at a junk shop. Buy copies of True Crime
and read them over at Kozel’s Delicatessen. Right? Maybe you say more. Maybe you tell them how you never told your parents where you were going. Or that Ali was your childhood hero.”
    Eve brought her attention back inside. “Did you talk to him?”
    He shook his head. “We don’t know where he is either. Both Nick and your mother were eager to talk, though. They’re fans of yours.”
    “They’re not fans, ” Eve said, voice sharpening.
    “Supporters. People who love you.”
    Trucks were passing, sides painted huge. Courier services, commercial bakeries, moving companies. The one that stopped just now had a frog on the side, huge red eyes locked on Eve alone. A cable company. Eve released a long breath, stabilizing herself. She didn’t show anger often, but Marcus had just pushed her very close.
    “But it’s still your story being sold,” he continued. “To the magazines, the papers, then finally to the people who wanted it in the first place. The people who desire it. Key word desire, Evey. Desire is how your story achieves its highest natural value.”
    The frog was gone.
    He produced a key card and buzzed her out. Then in the open doorway, he held the card out towards her.
    “To come and go,” he said. “If you can begin to feel comfortable here, I think this is a process you can learn to enjoy.”
    Eve took the card to finish their business. She submitted to the cheek kiss, a cool damp touch, wiped when she was safely away from