Eleanor Chen arrived for the November Sunday Dinner at exactly 2:00 PM, seventeen minutes ahead of schedule, carrying a Tupperware container of dumplings in one hand and a laminated certificate in the other. She was wearing her usual fur coat and her usual sharp, assessing expression, and she swept into the penthouse like a general returning to survey her troops after a long absence.
"Vivian," she announced, handing me the Tupperware with the same brisk efficiency she used for everything. "You look well. The stabilization phase agrees with you. Sophie sent me the documentation. Seventeen PowerPoints. Forty-seven new slides. The transitions are improving."
"She's been practicing," I said.
