Saturday dawned pure and sunny. Mitch showed up at the office in the newest pair of jeans I’d seen since grade school, when my big brother Abe bought me some so I wouldn’t have only hand-me-downs to wear.
“Okay, Rita’s ready to go.” Mitch’s glee smacked me in the face.
I wasn’t exactly sober, but I wasn’t hung over either. I’d just had almost one too many at Stonewall Saloon last night when I’d gotten into a debate about whether the Raiders were going to trounce the 49ers on Sunday. I loved to talk football, so it’d been a busy night for me.
“Uh, Rita?” I looked from him to his car. “Where’s she going?”
“The rally. She’s our ride. How else are we going to win?”
I rolled my eyes at his exuberant sincerity. “I did tell you the rally isn’t a speed race, right?”
He stared at me blankly b
