When the letter came, she was staying with a friend at his mid-town apartment and working a part-time job at the Metropolitan Museum. She didn't have enough money to pay any rent, but he was an old friend, and she watered his plants, walked his dog, and made dinner every night. Alexander the Great, a dignified chihuahua, was in seventh heaven with his new housemate, and Franz admitted that it wasn't very smart to own a dog in the city if no one was home all day. Since Meg had crashed with him, Alexander the Great hadn't shredded any more cushions or peed in the middle of his bed, not even once.

Meg had managed to avoid staying at Sarah's even for a day, thank God. It was bad enough that she felt obliged to return from Egypt directly to her parents's apartment. Ever since they had moved into the small apartment in order to cut expenses, they hadn't had enough room for Meg, so she was forced to sleep on an air mattress in her father's study. She loved her father's books, but it pained her that her mother had forced him to get rid of at least half of his collection in order to fit their lives into the apartment. He'd pleaded for a storage locker, but she'd refused. She wanted him to face reality; he didn't need all those books. It was the twenty-first century, for goodness' sake! They had the internet! He never looked at those books anyway!

After what she felt was a respectable few days spent patiently answering her mother's questions about her future and a dreadful dinner at Sarah's where Robert pushed back from the table and announced that he would help Meg start her "real" life, Meg fled to Manhattan.

One of these days, she thought, she would steal Robert's smartphone and drop it into the Hudson. Better yet, she would figure out how to unlock it and send pornographic texts to his entire contact list. She hated how he pulled it self-importantly out of his pocket and scrutinized it with an imperious frown, as he selected whatever app was buzzing him. She hated even more how Sarah would shush everyone in a stage whisper when "Robert has a call."

Her father was quieter than ever at Robert's table. Meg asked him about work, and received a wan smile in reply. Her mother hopped into the silence. "You know how those students are. They aren't in school to learn. They want jobs." She looked at Meg significantly.

Jobs. That was a four-letter word as far as Meg was concerned.

Franz was a production assistant for a play that was off-off Broadway. His family had money, and the rent control apartment near the U.N. building had been handed down to him. As a result, he was indifferent to Meg's inability to pay rent, but he welcomed the help with Alexander the Great, and he also appreciated the meals. The first few days she was there, they hung out and drank till late at night, brainstorming opportunities for Meg to pursue. Between the two of them, they had a host of contacts, but nothing seemed quite right.

"You could try publishing," Franz suggested. "But those jobs hardly pay anything. You'd have to keep your Met job."

"That's not helpful," Meg said. "The Met work is in the daytime."

"You could switch to waiting tables? That's at night. And there are tips. You don't get tips at the Met."

"Yeah, I guess. I love the Met, though. And publishing is crazy. Those jobs are really hard to get. I don't know anyone who's ready to ditch an entry-level publishing job."

"What was the thing that your brother-in-law offered you?"

"Oh, God. Don't start."

"Here, let me top you up, and then you can tell me." Franz leaned over to fill her glass. "Okay. So what was he trying to push on you?"

"Finance, it's always finance. It's clearly the only thing that matters," Meg said bitterly. "God, I hate him. He's just awful."

"It's so weird that you're related to those people, Meg."

Meg chuckled. "Yeah, you met them at graduation, didn't you? They're awful people. I don't know how we're related."

"But you know what. It's hard out there. Finance pays. And you could do it for a little while."

Meg tossed her drink back and slammed the glass down. She glared at Franz, who shrank back, laughing.

"Okay, okay. I'm lying. No, don't do it. But what the hell are you going to do? I wish I could help. But my family has to help me out, I'm barely surviving, and I hardly pay for this apartment."

"I don't know. But I think the archaeology gigs are at an end. Since I've been back, I've gotten two more rejections. I think this is pretty much the end of the road." She hesitated, then picked up her glass and held it out for a refill. Franz obliged.

"I went back to Professor Newman and asked him about government jobs."

"You did what? You're kidding me."

"I had a friend in Egypt who put the idea into my head. She said I'd make a good spy."

Franz burst out laughing. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Alexander the Great, who had been curled up on the couch next to him, lifted his head and glared.

"What?" Meg said defensively. "What's so strange?"

"You! A spy! Meg! You don't even stand for the national anthem!"

"I think I missed that memo," Meg said. "I was living in Pakistan when I was a kid, remember? I didn't learn that stuff. It's not really on purpose. And it feels dumb. Anyway, why do you have to be a zombie-minded fascist to be a spy?"

"Aren't they all zombie-minded fascists? Don't you have to convince people to die for the stars and stripes?"

"Ugh, that would be gross. No, that can't be right. I'm running through all the people I know overseas and I can't think of a single one stupid enough to trust a zombie-minded fascist."

"But Meg, people need what they need." Franz countered. "They'll do all kinds of things against their better judgment, if it's for money or a better education for their kids. Or, like, a U.S. passport. I'll bet you know people who would sell their souls for an American passport. And just look at you. You're willing to compromise, at least a little, in order to make a living. Right?"

"Eh. Not enough, apparently."

"Well, except for Robert. But that's because he's a jerk. You're not a jerk. You could convince people of all kinds of things." Franz moved Alexander the Great aside so that he could get up from the couch. As he padded over to the refrigerator, he said over his shoulder, "So what did old Newman say?"

"He said he gets inquiries all the time and that he'd throw something my way. And he said he wasn't sure I would like it, but maybe I could do it for a couple of years and see where it took me."

"I got a fucking D in his class," Franz said viciously, slamming the fridge shut.

"That's because you were stupid and didn't listen to me. I would never have taken Newman's class just to fulfill a requirement in something I wasn't interested in."

"But I wanted to be with you, oh beautiful Meg, beautiful Meg, light of my life, my heart and soul," Franz sang, sashaying back into the living room with a bowl in each hand. "What do you think, Rogers and Hammerstein? I can change it up and do Philip Glass. I can make it weirder."

"You liar," Meg said, reaching out for a bowl of chips.

"I'm not lying! I had a massive crush on you."

"Uh-huh," Meg said, unconvinced.

"You hate men."

"I don't hate men. I like you, isn't that proof that I don't hate men?"

"Oh, well." Franz plopped onto the couch again. "I'll be here for you if you need me--ugh, that doesn't sound right at all."

"Just stop," Meg laughed. "I don't deserve an aria."

"No, you don't," Franz agreed. "But I need to sing arias or I feel dead inside."

"That's how I feel, too," Meg said, her mouth full. "I need to get out of this place and away from my family, or I feel dead inside. I just want out. At this point I don't care where or how, I just need to get out."

Franz was checking his phone. "I thought I heard something but it's not me, it must be you."

"My ringer's off."

"I heard a buzz, is it on vibrate? Wait, do those old things even vibrate?"

"Stop already, I'm sick of being mocked for my phone. Yes, it vibrates. It must have been mine." Meg dug it out from under a pile of clutter and examined it. "Yeah, it was mine." She tossed it back onto the table.

"You idiot, aren't you going to check it?"

"No! I hate it when people check their phones in front of me."

"But I just checked mine," Franz pointed out. Meg eyed him over the rim of her glass and said nothing. Franz rolled his eyes, then leaned over to grab Meg's phone. He opened it, and grumbling, began to press keys.

"You've got mail," he announced. Meg sighed and leaned over.

"Looks official," Franz said. "Job offer?"

"Can't be, I haven't even applied for anything." Meg took the phone back and squinted at the screen. "Oh, my God. I have an interview. Shit!"

"Isn't that good? Hey, maybe by this time tomorrow you'll be employed!"

Meg looked up from her phone. "I don't know! I don't know who these people are, and why are they emailing me at night?"

"It says 'Department of State,' it's not the CIA, at least," Franz said, leaning over her shoulder to look. "So Newman didn't tell you this was happening?"

"No, he just said he'd put the word out for me. Shit! What should I do?"

"Talk to them, for God's sake! What do you mean, what should you do? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"I don't know what I wanted!"

"You wanted out, out of New Jersey, right? Out of the States? Maybe this is the diplomatic service. Maybe it's better than the CIA. Look, email them back. Right now. Say yes. Say yes before you overthink it." He paused. "But you can't do it on that stupid phone. Go use my laptop. It's in my bedroom."

"I will. I'll do it before I lose my nerve."