The elevator’s rise spawns a germ of nausea in my gut. “You will mind your own business,” Maryanne orders through clenched teeth.

That helps. I goad her again; “Vincenzo’s business is my business, too. By the way, Robert Sterne is coming tomorrow. The attorney.”

“He’s not our attorney.”

Again! “Sharing a divorce attorney isn’t worth the savings, I’ve heard.” The doors open like the shutters of a spotlight on Maryanne. She looks wide-eyed and pale.

Resolutely she strides into Vincenzo’s office. “That man,” she points at me, “refused to seat me.”

His eyes check her suitcase; he nods. “Emilio, I’m giving you a raise.” He spins his chair to the shelves behind him, pulls out the payroll ledger, and makes an entry in it then and there. “Congratulations.” He stands and reaches for my hand.

My hand is dripping sweat. Instead of a handshake, I gave him a mock salute. My arm spasms; I form it into a comic flourish. “Thank you! Now I must go, we’re wonderfully busy.”

I must go, literally. I run down the stairs.