Starbucks. Loveseat, chair, coffee table. Wendell, thirty years old, in sweats, shabby running shoes, and a three-day beard, sits hunched over a cappuccino and the classifieds. He reads intently, circles an item or two, is discouraged, then persists.
She enters, burdened with coffee, pastry bag, handbag, portfolio, and jacket but managing. At twenty-eight, she is ravishing: slender, smart suit, high heels, lots of hair, dangling earrings—a knockout.
SHE
Is this free? D’you mind if I . . . ?
WENDELL
(Grudging.) Help yourself. (Sees her.) Please.
