The office is perfectly organized and decorated in soothing beiges. Madge herself—in her understated gray dress and pearls, glasses on a chain around her neck and hair in a bun—seems like a throwback to a more genteel New York. This is exactly the kind of calm, ordered place that Erica needs to be in right now. The call from her mother left her rattled; demons she thought she’d conquered flared back to life, screeching, teeth bared, red eyes glowing. Madge looks at Erica—there’s concern in her eyes. “How about a cup of tea? We have some lovely herbals.” “That actually sounds nice,” Erica says. She never drinks herbal tea. Madge presses her intercom. “Rufus, could I get a cup of chamomile-lavender for Ms. Sparks? . . . So, we’re all ready to close. I must say, Erica, I think you’ve made a very good decision. It’s a lovely apartment.” Rufus—young, wearing an expensive suit—brings in Erica’s tea.
