Bernadette flips a switch dangling near her head. Two glass panels on the building’s outer wall slide apart. The high winds of Manhattan gust into the 41st floor – blowing tarps, trash, and a lacy bra (among other things) around the open space. Adam leaps forward, grabbing the jungle woman’s photo off the work bench a second before it blows away.

Bernadette (hair blowing in all direction) casually strolls to the floor’s edge to stare outside and down at the hard concrete of the city street some 40 stories below. She swallows hard then turns her head back to Adam. He bobbles his head in panicked disagreement.