THE FLIGHT TO San Francisco went smoothly and when I arrived at the airport, I rented a car and then called Hannah.
“Now isn’t the best time,” she said, when I told her I was on my way.
“What?” I asked, surprised, checking the time. It was almost noon. The woman had practically begged me to pick her up the day before. “Is she in school?”
“Uh, yeah,” Hannah said. “She should be home in a few hours.”
“What time?”
“Four.”
“Okay, I’ll be there at three. I’d like to talk to you before she gets home.”
Hannah sighed. “Fine. Just don’t get here any earlier. I’m working and my clients like privacy.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
It took her several seconds to answer. “I’m a personal masseuse.”
An image of her doing more than just massaging a guy’s back popped into my head. I reminded myself
