I woke up the next morning feeling slightly numb. It couldn't be a hangover because I hadn't been drinking, so it must have been the fact that Alejandro had kissed me. Had that really happened? My memories of the limousine ride felt like a dream, something that couldn't have been real. But it was real, and my lips still burned from the heat of that kiss. Too bad I also remembered that Bea was forcing me to swindle this man. No wonder I felt numb.

I stumbled to the bathroom while I contemplated my bizarre life. The most desirable man I could think of wanted me, for no reason I could figure, and I had to push him away because I was being forced to cheat him. Reality had taken a vacation, leaving me neck-deep in surreal stew, and no amount of water splashed on my face was going to make things normal again.

So I called the most real person I knew: Wanda. She represented everything normal about my life. Only she could give me what I needed.

The blast of her voice warmed me like a hot shower. "Dee, love! Good to hear you're still with us. You're not going to believe this, babe, but you've become the hottest thing in New York City! Your pottery is flying off the shelves. Everyone, I mean everyone wants a piece of you. And that includes me, honey. You've got to come home."

"Oh, Wanda. It's good to hear your voice."

She paused. "What's wrong?"

"What's right? I'm spiraling out of control here." I stopped to take a breath. "Bea's got me doing things I shouldn't be doing. I just need you to tell me that it's all gonna be okay."

"I can do that." She cleared her throat and spoke with authority. "It'll. Be. Okay." Then, back to being Wanda, she added, "Do you need me to say it three times?"

I smiled. "No, that did the trick. So what else is happening?"

Her answer surprised me. "We've had two unusual visitors at the shop. One good and one bad. The good is a New York Times reporter who came by looking for you. I told her all about the shop, but now she wants to meet you even more. Could be big."

This was a good visit? Wanda understood that I liked my anonymity, even though I'd never told her I was in hiding. But she still courted fame for me, somehow managing to ignore the disconnect between these two things. I might not be hiding from Bea anymore, but I still couldn't handle notoriety, especially in the middle of this con. I couldn't allow a piece about me in the New York Times any more than I could appear with Alejandro at a No Moss party.




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