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contact with the costume museum in Paris—tossed this crust down to its Denver branch. Finally she had her chance to visit Paris—her chance to find François! Now was not the time to jeopardize her job.
    But Lou’s next words did just that.

Three
    â€œA glaia, have you ever considered the academic life? Our university theater department is advertising for a wardrobe consultant. It’s an entry-level position, to be sure, but it could eventually lead to some lecturing possibilities.”
    Aglaia, startled at the unexpected turn in conversation, slopped her wine after all, and the cool liquid seeped through to her knee. She moved her glass to hide the stain and composed herself before answering.
    This idea of a job at Platte River University must be what Lou had been hinting at for several weeks now, Aglaia thought—actually, ever since they first met. Had Lou heard the rumors about financial difficulties at the costume shop? What with the layoffs forced on some of Incognito’s staff, Aglaia couldn’t envision a better opportunity than working for PRU to bolster her vocational reputation and replace lost employment, if it came to that. Being hired by the upscale metropolitan institute would give her prestige, job security, and even a sense of identity she seemed to have misplaced along the way somewhere. She could hardly believe her luck.
    â€œI may not have the credentials to work for a university,” Aglaia hedged, her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted to abandon decorum and bounce up from her seat, to let the grin inside her find its way to her mouth and her eyes, but this was the time for austerity. She used to hate snobs but now found herself wanting to become one. At this point she needed to be circumspect. Just maybe her work record and the recent press attention would outweigh her lack of formal education.
    Aglaia had never even completed her bachelor’s degree in fine arts. She ran out of money after her first few semesters, her parents not offering any of the life insurance payment to help with tuition. After that, in those first years in the city when she was just fighting to survive, she couldn’t afford to take even the odd community college class that might catch her eye—hand-dyed batik or ethnic embroidery. But since beginning work at Incognito, Aglaia had fully accessed the annual budget for professional development. She enrolled in fashion design workshops and textile seminars and millinery sessions, and then even won a scholarship to last summer’s intensive two-week course in stage costume construction at the technical institute. It was a mish-mash of accredited and informal classes, but most of what she’d learned came from one-on-one tutelage by her boss.
    So she was flattered by Lou’s suggestion. Considering the woman’s faculty position and her age—she was in her mid-forties, a dozen years Aglaia’s senior—Lou was well ahead of her in the career track and in life experience. Aglaia aspired to someday have Lou’s imperturbable grace and sophistication.
    â€œYou underestimate your potential,” Lou said. “I saw it immediately when we met at the health club in the spring. Who else sews her own workout clothes?”
    â€œYou’re too kind,” Aglaia said. She straightened her dress strap, self-conscious. She’d noticed Lou’s attire at the women’s gym, as well—all top-of-the-line athletic wear with prominent brand identification. Of course, she recalled spotting Lou several years before they officially met at the club, back when Aglaia still stopped in for lunch at the campus cafeteria on occasion to rub shoulders with real students. No longer in her twenties, she didn’t blend in as well any more. But it was back then that she first admired Lou from afar, not speculating they might someday be friends.
    Outside of the gym, she never saw Lou in anything but designer