LITMIR.BIZ

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but maybe that was the golf cart influence.

      Inside, it took a second for my eyes to adjust from the bright glare of afternoon sunlight, even though I found myself in a two-story atrium with a skylight. A serious-looking gray-haired woman was sitting on a high chair behind an elevated desk. A name placard read, “ANASTASIA CARPENTER, REGISTRAR.” Turning from her computer monitor, she peered at me over her half-glasses.

      “You’re here for Sean,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

      “Um, no,” I said. “I’m here to see Ms. Weaver.”

      “Oh,” the woman said, staring at me as if she didn’t believe what I’d just told her. “Of course. One moment.”

      Just then Marilyn appeared in a hallway I could just see from my spot in front of Ms. Carpenter’s desk. Someone was behind her, and as they drew nearer, I recognized Charlene, Marilyn’s cowgirl niece whom I’d met at the Boneyard.

      “Copper!” Marilyn called as soon as she saw me. “I’m so glad you could come!”

      “Thanks for inviting me,” I said as they reached Ms. Carpenter’s desk. “Hi, Charlene.”

      Charlene looked exactly as she had the night before, except this time she wasn’t wearing earrings, and she had slung her leather jacket over her shoulder. Understandable, I thought, given how hot it was outside.

      “Charlene made it to the finals today,” Marilyn said. “We’re so thrilled.” She squeezed Charlene’s shoulder and tried to pull her close, but the cowgirl resisted.

      “Oh, come on, honey,” Marilyn said. “It’s perfectly okay to be proud.”

      Charlene caught my eye before she hid her face under her cowboy hat, but I couldn’t read her expression.

      “Congratulations,” I said.

      “I only wish I were going to be in town on Sunday for the finals,” Marilyn said, trying the hug thing again. “Would you like to go, Copper? I’d be happy to get tickets for you and a friend.”

      “Well—”

      Why not? Daniel might like to go, and a little online research had revealed that cutting horses are actually pretty interesting. The trials were all about how well the horses could separate one cow from a whole herd. In addition, attending the finals might just give me another topic for a column.

      “Thanks,” I said. “I’d love to.”

      “Great! Two tickets will be waiting for you at will-call,” Marilyn said. She turned to Charlene. “And I’ll be there in spirit, honey. Just like your mom.”

      Charlene’s cheeks reddened, but I couldn’t tell whether it was because she was pleased, embarrassed, or something else.

      “I need to show Copper around,” Marilyn said. “You want to come along, or—?”

      “I’ll wait in your office,” Charlene said, “but I do have to head back to the Silverado pretty soon. Gotta take care of Scarlett.”

      “I’ll be back in a few minutes, honey,” Marilyn said. “I’m just giving Copper a quick tour.”

      “See you on Sunday—” I began, but Charlene was already heading back down the hall.

      “Scarlett’s her horse,” Marilyn said as she moved toward the registrar’s desk. “You’re going to love seeing the two of them in action.” She laid her hand on Ms. Carpenter’s shoulder. “Annie, this is Copper Black,” she said. “She’s a journalist—here to make us famous.”

      Ms. Carpenter looked at me, but she didn’t smile. In fact, I could almost swear she sniffed.

      “How nice,” she said.

      “This school couldn’t operate without Ms. Carpenter,” Marilyn said. “The students all call her “The Hard Drive,” because she remembers absolutely everything. She never forgets a face or a name, and she even remembers all their birthdays.”

      I glanced at Ms. Carpenter as we moved down the hall, and our eyes met for an instant. Memorizing me, I couldn’t help thinking. Maybe I’d get a birthday card next March.

      “Lucky for us, Kelly Baskin and Chanel Torres are on campus today. They’re seniors, and both of them have entered a singing competition in Los Angeles. They’ve been coming in to work with Mr. Rice, our voice coach.”

      I was about to say something when a guy stepped out from around a corner in front of us. He was about my age, I guessed, and he was wearing a pressed white shirt and tie.

      “Sean!” Marilyn said. “I thought you were heading out to meet with Larry.”

      “He canceled,” Sean said. “I’ll reschedule for later next week.”

      A look of doubt crossed Marilyn’s face, but she banished it with a smile. “I’d like you to meet Copper Black.”

      “It’s a pleasure,” Sean said, grasping my hand and flashing a friendly grin. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

      Marilyn rolled her eyes.

      “This is my son Sean,” she said. “He’s our director of development.”

      “Money scavenger, she means,” Sean said with another grin. “Keep an eye on your purse.”

      As his mother rolled her eyes again, I couldn’t help noticing Sean’s resemblance to her. In addition to being similarly blonde, he was fit and tan. A tennis player, I was willing to bet.

      “So you’re going to write about us,” Sean said. “Fast Times at the Anna Roberts Parks Academy.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Well, okay, maybe not.”

      “I’m no screenwriter,” I said. “I’m a nonfiction sort.”

      “Is there really any difference between fiction and nonfiction?” Sean said. “Maybe we should get together over some absinthe and discuss story theory sometime.”

      I couldn’t help smiling as Marilyn heaved another heavy sigh.

      “I’m introducing Copper to Kelly and Chanel,” she said, “but—”

      She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, it’s getting late, and I still have to run home before I go to the airport. Sean—my office, please. I need to touch base with you on a couple of things.”

      “Yes, Ms. W,” Sean said, snapping his hand to his brow in a military salute. “I hear and obey.”

      Just then, a door opened down at the end of the hall. Two girls and a young black man in a workout suit stepped out.

      “Just who we were looking for!” Marilyn said. “Kelly, Chanel, and Mr. Rice.” She started walking toward them.

      I turned back to Sean, but he was gone.

      “Mr. Rice!” Marilyn called. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet!”

      She introduced us, then excused herself and headed toward her office. For the next twenty minutes, I learned all about how Kelly and Chanel had both made it through cattle-call auditions for a reality show called Rising Stars in Hollywood the week before. Kelly looked like an updated Spice Girl, and Chanel had obviously modeled herself on Beyoncé. I didn’t hear them sing, but if the judges could be swayed by looks, both of them should continue to do well.

      Mr. Rice was eager to recite all his credentials. He seemed most proud of his stint as “Ooey Tophat” in a Broadway musical called The Dalai Lama Goes to Washington. I’d never heard of it, but I emitted an obviously expected “Oooh.”

      “So, what brought you to Las Vegas?” I asked after the girls had left to change their clothes. Marilyn reappeared just in time to hear my question.

      “A gig with The Boys from Bali,” he said. “It was a bit of a

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