“Are you all right?” someone else asks. A teenager has her phone out and is filming her humiliation
On the day that Rivi Greenberg finds out that her father is dead, she is imprisoned by her own sheitel in the middle of Madison Avenue.
It doesn’t come off. That’s her sole comfort.
Every workday, Rivi wears a wig, perfectly set and styled in businesslike waves; indistinguishable from her colleagues’ hair unless you know what to look for. When she strides through the streets of New York, no one looks at her twice. She dresses the part: mahogany blazer, skirt, blouse beneath the blazer, nylon stockings, heels. When she argues in court, only her name gives her away.
It’s the heels that cause the problem today. Yesterday had been unseasonably warm, the sort of warm that makes you disbelieve that it’s winter and that the children complain about bitterly. It’s not fair! It was so cold yesterday! We deserve snow! But it had been warm enough that the precipitation had been sheets of rain, gusting down upon the suburban streets until the dip in the road had become a pond.
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