Winnie
Chandler grabs my hand, pulling me away from the clothing store where shoppers must knock and have an appointment to enter.
It's Friday morning, and we've taken the day off from work.
Tonight is the Cruze family dinner.
I think we're going ring shopping.
"The jewelry store is back there," I say, using my hand to shield my eyes from the L.A. sun.
Chandler turns his baseball cap backward and tells me, "I know."
We stop at a rug store.
What are we doing at a rug store--an expensive rug store?
Chandler lets go of my hand to pull his phone from his blue jean pocket.
"May I help you, sir?" A man approaches us dressed in a suit.
"Sure." Chandler shows the man a photograph. "I'm looking for this."
"Wow, he's pointing at the stain with his middle finger." Then, after
