The moaning reached a crescendo.
“I feel you, robotic ghost,” Meena mumbled. She brushed on mascara, then rose on her toes to see as much of her black-clad reflection as possible. She looked like a beatnik from the sixties. She gave one more wistful glance at the beret, shrugged, and accepted that this was the best she could hope for tonight.
It was showtime. She slung her camera on her shoulder, grabbed the package of two hundred small paper cups （recycled）， and headed out the door. She ran into Wally in the hall and went to her knees to give him rubs as he jumped around her. She was as excited to see him as he was to play with her.
“Hi!” Meena gave him scratches around his ears. “Oh, I know. I missed you too. It’s been a whole six hours since you ran into my apartment and chewed on the strap of my camera bag.”
His yips were getting deeper. He was growing up.
“What are you supposed to be?” Meena assessed the dog’s costume. He was wrapped in a light-gray blanket with his legs sticking out. A thick fabric cone was wrapped around his neck, and above his ear was a green ball stuck to the inside of the cone.
Wally tilted his head as if puzzled by her curiosity.
“Hey.”
She glanced up as Sam closed the door behind him. Meena caught her jaw before it fell. He was in a tuxedo, and his usually messy hair was slicked back. He was clean shaven and smelled like soap and musk. She wanted to rub under his chin instead of Wally’s. Meena stood back up. “Hi.”
“Mime without a face?” Sam asked.
Meena, confused by his question, tilted her head the same way Wally had.
“Your costume,” Sam said.
“A cat without a tail, ears, or whiskers.”
“When the aunties ask, say deconstructed mime, or you’ll be forced into one of their old outfits,” Sam advised. “You definitely do not want that.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Meena said. “Why so fancy, Sam?”
He picked up Wally, then held out his hand to her as if to shake. “Vora. Sam Vora.” His face was serious.
She frowned and shook his hand. It was warm, and she held on a second longer than she should have. “I don’t understand.”
“Double oh seven,” he said. “And Wally is my martini. Shaken, not stirred. One olive.”
“Ah, OK.”
“You do know what I’m talking about, right?”
“You’re James Bond,” Meena guessed.
“Exactly,” Sam said. “Not impressed?”
“Very fancy.”
“I know I’m not Daniel Craig.” Sam sighed. “But I think I can pull off Bond. Maybe if I tried for a British accent.”
Meena tapped her finger to her chin. “Let’s hear it.”
“Sounds a bit old-fashioned, doesn’t it?” Sam said in an exaggerated British accent. “I mean, pistols at dawn.”
“Oh no. No. Don’t do that.” Meena shook her head.
“It’s not that bad, but you have to admit, that’s a classic line,” Sam said. “The Man with the Golden Gun?”
Meena raised her eyebrows.
“What’s your favorite Bond movie?” Sam asked. “Please don’t say Die Another Day.”
“I haven’t seen any of them.” Meena laughed at Sam’s shocked face. “I’m not a movie person.”
His face fell, his shoulders drooped. “That is possibly the saddest thing you could say to me.” Wally barked. “My dog agrees.”