I say to Franklin. We’re in our office, desk chairs pulled up to our video monitor, watching my shaky pictures from the purse party. Video from a hidden camera is about ten per cent usable. Most of it turns out to be upside down, sideways, all swoops and blurs, or has someone’s hand over it. Basically, a lot of it looks like someone’s shooting out of focus movies on a storm-tossed ship. Screening raw video can make you seasick. That’s why I’m having a bit of a difficult morning. I’m still the tiniest bit hung over from the late-night champagne that my almost-fiancé and I shared to celebrate the beginning of part two of our relationship. I’m also the tiniest bit distracted by residual twinges and tingles from that same late night in places it’s inappropriate to discuss with my colleagues at work. So I’m trying to hide my potentially embarrassing physical infirmities and focus on our story. And my mind keeps going back to the anonymous phone call. I finally told Franklin about it, including my worry about who might be on the other end.
