“Quentin, I need a massive favor.”
“Anything for you, Ange.”
I explained what I needed and he interrupted me.
“That’s not quite in my comfort zone. How fast do you need it?”
“Not right away,” I said. “A couple of months?”
“Let me make some calls and get back to you. It might take a few days.”
Sunday afternoon, he texted me with a name and number. I called, and a female voice with a rising inflection said she was Monica and that she and Quentin were good friends. Her voice told me she wanted to be an even better friend, too.
I explained what I needed and she asked lots of questions I couldn’t answer. I told her I could do some research, and she agreed to give it a shot.
When we ended the call, I felt like dancing around the apartment.
The bad news was that I couldn’t say a word to
