When I accepted the commission, there was a scrupulous contract we all signed which entitled me to a share of whatever profit the outfit might make—though Annie told me wryly that it would produce only tiny money unless we were very good and very lucky. In the vanishingly unlikely event that we scored a direct hit, though, she was confident that I would be pleased by my percentage. I didn’t really pay much attention. I was an artist again. I had no desire to walk back from where I was. I refused to let Annie take the early sketches. They were trial pieces, I said. Useless now. I saw her face flicker. Concern. Eagerness. Trepidation. Anticipation.