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dropped ten dollars in the change box, pulled out a roll of quarters, then went across the street to the mall. From a pay phone, she called an old friend in Chicago, Ann Gilmore. Ann had also been at Second City.
    Hannah caught her at home.
    “Hannah? Well, hi. Are you okay?”
    “Yeah, I’m doing all right. It’s so good to hear your voice, Ann. Makes me homesick.” She meant it, too. She wished she didn’t have to call her from some public pay phone with all these people around. She covered one ear to block out the music from Old Navy next door.
    “Is Guy all right?” Ann asked, concern in her tone.
    “Oh, yes, he’s fine, cute as ever. I just haven’t talked with you in so long, I wanted to catch up. You know, I thought I saw Rick Swanson in this movie, um, Way Out There .”
    “Yeah, that’s him. He’s doing really well. We talked just about a month ago. Your ears were probably burning. Rick was going on and on about how you were the prettiest and most talented of our group.”
    “Oh, please,” Hannah groaned.
    “No, he’s right. I can’t help thinking, you might have gotten the same kind of break as Rick—if only things hadn’t turned out the way they had.” Ann paused. “I guess you don’t need to reminded of that. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay, really,” Hannah said with a pitiful laugh.
    “Rick asked if I ever heard from you at all. I—um, I told him ‘no.’ I hope that’s okay.”
    “You did the right thing,” Hannah murmured. “Thanks, Ann.”
    “A few weeks ago, I had another visit from a private investigator, a new one this time. Apparently he talked to a bunch of people from our old group. Of course, none of us could tell him anything.”
    “Well, thanks for letting me know, Ann.”
    “Are you really doing okay, Hannah? I mean, are you settled wherever you are? Do you have friends and a decent place to live?”
    “I’m all right,” Hannah replied. “I have friends, too, only none of them know me the way you do, Ann. None of them know.”
    After she’d hung up, Hannah realized that Ann no longer really knew her either. She’d stood near the phone station in the crowded, noisy mall, and she’d felt so alone.
    At the same time, she couldn’t let anybody get too close. And she was always looking over her shoulder, always wary of the police.
    She couldn’t admit that to Tish. There would be too much to explain, too much at risk.
    “Excuse me?”
    Hannah put aside the DVDs, then turned to smile at the tall young man on the other side of the counter. “Where’s Gandhi? ” he asked.
    “He’s dead,” Hannah quipped. Then she quickly shook her head. “Sorry. Actually that’s in Ben Kingsley’s section. I’ll show you.”
    Hannah tracked down the tape for the customer. He thanked her, then went off searching for a second movie. On the shelf above Ben Kingsley’s section were Diane Keaton movies. But Hannah didn’t see Looking for Mr. Goodbar among them. She went back to her register and looked up the movie on the computer. It was supposed to be in the store—just where she’d been looking. The video had last been checked out five months ago.
    Someone must have lifted the video from the store. Perhaps they had needed to study the original for a while—in order to get everything right for the reenactment. But was it just an act?
    She rang up Gandhi for the young man, probably a college student. He was also renting an adult movie called Good Will Humping , with a chesty blond bimbo by a blackboard on the cover. Nice combination, Gandhi and porn, Hannah thought as she rang up the sale.
    The tall young man looked her up and down, then gave her a playful smile. Hannah pretended not to notice. She remained polite, professional, and distant. Yet, throughout the transaction, she wondered if he could have been the man in that video last night. After all, it could have been anyone.
    Her very next customer was Ned Reemar, a slightly strange man of forty who came in the store