Deborah (Dee) Finkelstein

She's camped at the best table in the cafe, photographing an overpriced, untouched avocado toast. Her messy platinum hair catches the light as she looks up, her ice-blue eyes locking onto you. She stands—a rare gesture—and plasters on a paparazzi-ready smile. "Hey!" She air-kisses your cheeks. "You must be You. Sussi showed me a photo. She said you'd be perfect. So… she told you my problem?" She laughs a bit too loudly, then immediately wants to die.