2.
Leslie and I are stuffed into the back of an EMT van which is headed to the nearest medical center. She sits directly across from me, looking more dejected than injured, elbows planted on her knees, her face propped up by her hands, her multi-carat engagement ring sparkling in the brilliant sunlight that, on occasion, shines through the windows, bathing the back bay in late spring’s radiant warmth.
“So much for the Leslie Singer Literary Agency,” she laments into her hands, her eyes now gazing down at her bare feet, neither her sexy black pumps nor her sheer, dark, thigh-high stockings having survived the fire. “I should have never allowed you to light up.”
“Come on, that’s no way to talk. You’re the hottest agent in town. You’re friends with the famous.” I smile for effect. “Plus, y
