The delayed bass thump of her “Billie Jean” ringtone jingled in the back seat as Rudie steered her car into a parking spot between a Hummer and a Dodge Caravan. She turned off the ignition and patted the seat behind her for her purse, her chest squeezing as she thought, as she used to when her phone rang, Dylan. She had bought the ringtone in the wake of Michael Jackson’s death last June, surprised at how teary she’d become when she first read the news on Perez Hilton. She hadn’t listened to Michael Jackson when he was at his most popular, had mocked the red leather jacket, the flood pants, the glitter glove, but had grown to love his work beyond reason after pulling all-nighters editing One b*a with Dylan, the film where spending all their time together had moved rapidly from colleagues t
