I was happy to abandon the task mid-sulk when Mrs. Quigley summoned me to the phone. Naturally, my caller was said Hollywood costume designer. I tightened the belt on my robe, certain Edith’s powers extended to divining how I was dressed based solely on my voice. “Have I got a story for you,” I said. “It’s entirely possible I’ve not only heard it but can add to it. Is there any chance you could come to the studio today?” “As it happens, I’m at liberty. I don’t suppose—” “No car today, I’m afraid. Can you still make it over?” “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. Although I could use one to get across town.” * * * ANOTHER FORAY INTO darkest closet unearthed a cute blue knit skirt and sweater set. I sallied forth. The security guard at the Paramount gate directed me to the commissary, where Edith had left word she’d be. She sat by a window in a slim gray dress, a maroon scarf providing a bloom of color at her throat. She leaned over a coffee cup toward a balding man who hung on her every word.
