When I got home, my answering machine was blinking with a message from Donald.
"Hey, Spencer, um, odd question here." His voice didn’t have his usual note of veiled glee. "I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind coming to see the play I’m in, this Friday or Saturday. You’d be doing me a big favor, because my sister Ruth is visiting. She wants to see me perform, but she’s anxious about being alone in the theater. So you’d be a sort of paper date. You know, like a paper tiger. I mean—s**t, I’m not saying this right."
I laughed and shook my head as though he could see me. The message went on.
"You can’t tell I’m nervous or anything, can you? Listen, forget it. This is embarrassing. I’ll think of something else. Sorry to bother you."
He hadn’t said anything about the play itself, so I was curious abo
