“He thinks two hundred dollars is going to buy my signature,” I said.

“It’s two hundred dollars you don’t have right now, Becky,” Irene said, touching my wrist gently.

I picked up the two bills, folded them back into the letter, and put the envelope in my coat pocket.

“I’m not selling my voice for two hundred dollars.”

“He’ll be angry when you give it back,” Irene said, her hands patting her apron from habit.

“He can be as angry as he likes,” I said.