Ange and I slipped into a little coffee shop near my apartment. Tonight was going to be a long night—we were scheduled to work an eighties–themed disco party. A colorful era, I thought, with plenty of good music.
“You’re paying for coffee,” Ange teased.
“Of course. I promised, didn’t I?” I smiled.
I ordered two latte macchiatos and fresh croissants. Ange claimed a table by the window, right across from a group of girls deep in conversation. When I joined her, she was already absorbed in a glossy magazine someone had left behind.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“Some fashion magazine,” she said. “The cover caught my eye.”
The waitress set down our coffees. I took a sip, but Ange couldn’t tear herself away from the page.
“What has you so captivated?” I pressed.
“It’s an article abou
