Michelle

I've run into Michelle three times.

First was the Pink Ball, where she was — for a little while — the most interesting mystery in the room. Then there was the time I pumped her gas, which is the kind of random encounter that shouldn't stick with you but does. And then at Jim Stafford's funeral, where she was there with Chad and I had about thirty seconds to be a normal human being before the situation reasserted itself.

Three times. Each one a little longer than it should have been, for reasons I haven't fully sorted out.

I don't know her. I'd like to. The obstacle is that Chad Beckstrom — her boyfriend — is now running Stafford Oil's Permian Basin operations, which puts him at the center of my most important client relationship. Which means the sensible thing, the professional thing, the only reasonable thing, is to treat that particular door as closed and leave it that way.

I'm doing that.

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