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Us—but Dennie couldn't afford to be choosy. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this," she told Trella.
    "Well, I really just came to tell you that I couldn't possibly talk to you about Janice." Trella beamed at her. "And really, I wish you would just forget this whole thing. You seem like a nice person." She patted Den-nie's hand.
    "Oh, I am ." Dennie leaned forward and projected sincerity with every cell in her body. "And I do sympathize with Professor Meredith. Truly, I do. That's why I want to do the interview with her. The press can be savage on something like this." She beamed back at Trella, trying to look intelligent, compassionate, warm, and honest at the same time. It shouldn't have been hard, she felt all of those things, but trying to keep them on her face made her feel like a fraud. "If you could just tell her that I mean only the best for her, and I mean the best—"
    "You know, dear, I think it's a mistake to talk to the press," Trella said, a trifle abstracted. "Sometimes they misquote you, and then sometimes they don't, and you've really said those things, which can be so much worse."
    "Don't think of me as the press," Dennie said, trying not to let her intensity flatten the little woman. "Think of me as a friend with a tape recorder. Think of me as somebody who would not dream of misquoting anyone because this is the biggest story of my career, and I want desperately to get everything right."
    "I don't think careers like this are good for a woman," Trella said. "They make a woman hard." She tilted her head at Dennie. "You don't look hard yet. Although there is that line between your eyes. Lines are so bad. Why don't you just find a nice man and forget this?" Trella patted Dennie's hand again.
    Dennie clenched her teeth and tried to remember that if she ripped Trella's head off, she'd never get the Meredith interview. "Well," she said carefully instead, "don't you think that since I'm not hard yet, that I would be a good person—"
    "Miss Banks?"
    Dennie jerked her head up at the man's voice. He was a young suit, probably early thirties, painfully thin, prematurely balding and visibly uncomfortable. He was standing beside Janice Meredith.
    This could not be good.
    "Miss Banks? I'm Paul Baxter, the manager here, and I was wondering if I could see you for a moment?" The man's voice was pleading.
    "Why?" Dennie asked, keeping a wary eye on Janice.
    "I forgot to tell you, dear," Trella said. "I did call Janice and mention I was meeting you. I hope you don't mind—"
    This is bad , Dennie told herself as her heartbeat moved into overdrive. Nothing I can't handle, but it's bad .
    Janice Meredith broke in. "It's very simple, Miss Banks. I have reported your harassment to Mr. Baxter. If you attempt to question either myself or any of my friends again, I'll have you arrested. Ohio has a stalking law, you know."
    "Stalking?" Dennie blinked, confusion goosing her nervousness along. "I'm on your side. Why would I stalk you? If you'd just let me—"
    "Trust me, Miss Banks," Janice Meredith said evenly, "I know exactly who is on my side. And you're not even close. Come with me, Trella."
    Trella stood up and smiled uncertainly at Dennie. "It was lovely talking to you, dear. Good luck on finding a man."
    When they were gone, Dennie realized she was trembling and clenched her hands together to stop the shaking.
    The manager cleared his throat. "I'm sure this was just a misunderstanding," he said, clasping and unclasping his hands. Dennie knew just how he felt. "But if you could avoid Dr. Meredith whenever possible, we'd all be very grateful. And we would like to avoid the police."
    "Right," Dennie said. "The police would be bad."
    "Thank you," Mr. Baxter said. "I'm sure you meant well, but Dr. Meredith is very powerful, and I just got this promotion, and I—we—the hotel, that is—well, me, too—we really can't afford the bad publicity."
    "I understand," Dennie said, beginning to feel sorry for him, but sorrier for