The intense two-hour session leaves me weak-limbed but wide awake as I exit the Wall Street subway and make my way to the Blackwood Tower. Today, I’m feeling a little less self-conscious—but no less vigilant—courtesy of the eight Bloomingdales shopping bags that arrived on my doorstep this morning. I opened the first one to find a note from Fionnella. As discussed, dress rehearsal for clothes begins today. Find enclosed first selection. As discussed? First selection? Am I that unsophisticated to need a rehearsal for clothes? My frown stayed in place all through breakfast. I was a little out of it last night after my epic rant in the apartment, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered a discussion about a new wardrobe. My brain may be a seething mass of fear-induced knots, but I’m sure I would also have remembered a planned shopping trip to Bloomingdales on my behalf. My eventual text to that effect garnered a one-line response. Apologies. Instructions still stand. The Boss insists.
