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  Kathy stops and faces her friend. Smiling. They’re on 42nd now, the sun slanting down on them. “I’ve got some plans. That’s all I’ll tell you. Might jinx it.”

  “Oh, don’t do it, Kath. Date a married man? Are you crazy? Never works. They never leave their wives.”

  Kathy stops smiling. “Oh, you think I could be some guy’s plaything? A little girl lost in the big city? You think that, Louise?”

  Louise is taken aback. “Hey! I’m just worried about you.”

  “Yeah, well, good. But don’t think I’m stupid. I’m not.” She softens, pats Louise’s arm. “Fact is, the more I hang around here, I realize I’m pretty damned smart. The thing is, Lou, you just have to get in the game and play. Then you find out all the other people are pretty ordinary. Come on, let’s lighten up. Walk me back to work. I’ll pay your cab back to Hoboken. Fair? Really, I appreciate you coming over here. And don’t even think about messing with Keith.”

  Kathy laughs to herself.

  “What?” Louise asks.

  “Just thinking. Look, I’m not apologizing for anything I’ve done. Screw it. I’m not ashamed of anything. That doesn’t mean I want to do it over. I don’t want to be twenty again. Not even twenty-eight. I’ve got a new life. I think it’ll be a good one.”

  Kathy stops herself. No point in bragging, making her friend jealous. But yeah, when she thinks about it, when she looks ahead, things look real good. No guarantees, everyone knows that. But hell, things look good.

  Louise is staring at her. Head tilted a little. Questioning maybe. Doubting.

  “Louise, listen. You’ve got good instincts. Being a nurse must do that. Yeah, there’s a married man. But he’s not that married. One of those dead-end marriages.”

  Louise challenges her. “How do you know that?”

  “Hey, married eight years, no kids. What’s that tell you? Look, I’ve seen them together, some big office party, before Christmas. No chemistry. So what’s the point?” Kathy shrugs, smiling intently at Louise. “No point! I really think I’m doing her a favor. She’ll get somebody more, you know, suitable. Then we’ll have four happy people. The way it ought to be, right? Anyway, my guy deserves a lot more.”

  Louise laughs nervously. “You?”

  “Oh, you know more than that?”

  Louise starts to argue. “No, sweetie, put it here.” She raises her hand for Kathy to slap. They laugh, then they hug. “Good luck, girlfriend.” Louise smiles bravely. “I’ll keep Keith away.”

  “Shoot him. He understands that. Man loves guns.”

  Louise stares at her old friend. Her face confused. “You really don’t miss him? Come on, Kathy. Really?”

  “Another life, Louise. We were married four years and I want to forget all but maybe a week.”

  “One great week, huh?”

  “Spread over four years? Nothing great about it.”

  They laugh some more, crossing Fifth Avenue.

  Chapter

  4

  • Robert and his wife, Anne, go out to dinner with another couple, Sam and Marie. They’re good friends. He’s a stockbroker, she’s in banking. A pleasant, normal evening. Robert finds it reassuring. Everything in its place. And a long way from the craziness of Manhattan. And from Kathy.

  The wives go to the bathroom and Sam says, “You got any problems? No, you don’t. I took forty thousand of my own money up to three hundred thou, trading options. Losing it all as we sit here. I tell you, man, I go to work like it’s death row.”

  “Damn,” Robert says, “the whole three hundred thousand? Gone?”

  “Hell no. There’s fifty or sixty dollars left.” The other man laughs grimly. “And you know what? Marie cuts out coupons. She takes me to the grocery, tells me, ‘Look, dear, I just saved twelve dollars.’ Hard not to strangle her, right there.”

  “You can’t tell her about the options, huh?”

  “You kidding? She just saved twelve dollars! Another world. . . . I live to trade. She couldn’t understand. Heck, neither could the SEC.”

  The two couples say good night in front of the restaurant. A chilly, moonless night. Robert stares at Sam’s wife. Sam made a fortune, lost a fortune. She doesn’t know word one. It feels strange, somehow lonely, to Robert. That he should know something so personal and she doesn’t. He almost wishes Sam hadn’t told him. It changed the mood.

  Then, as they’re driving home, Anne puts her face in her hands and starts crying. Robert stares disbelieving at the side of her face. His first reaction is guilt. Something he did, said, thought. . . . How could Anne know? Jesus, just one drink, Anne, that’s all we did. Politics, we talked—

  “Oh, Robert, I’m sorry.”

  “Anne . . . what is it?” He drives with one hand, patting her back nervously with the other.

  “Oh, nothing, really. Something at work.”

  Robert sighs, a pleasurable feeling of relief. “Oh well, tell me about it. Damn. Don’t keep it to yourself.”

  “It’s nothing, really. There’s a lot of stress. You know that promotion . . . ?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m just sure I won’t get it.”

  “Now . . . you deserve that.”

  “Office politics.” She wipes her eyes, smiles bravely. Turning more toward Robert. He presses harder on her back. “Marie was just telling me how much she wants to have children. Sam hates the thought. He actually hates children. Isn’t that strange? I felt so sorry for her. You like children, don’t you? I mean, really like them?”

  “Yes, I do. I really do. Whenever you’re ready . . .”

  “I tell you, some days at work, I think, drop it, go home, get pregnant.”

  They’re driving a winding, back road. Not much light. Houses hard to see. Abruptly a streetlamp shines on Anne’s face. Robert can see the streaked makeup. She sniffs a little. He wants to help her, comfort her. . . . Damn. She gets upset too easily. Anne! Come on, be tougher.

  Was she always like this? Age is scaring her? The career is too much? Robert isn’t sure. She always had a certain reserve, a prim quality. But he thought of it as good breeding, as responsible, adult behavior. Things he thought he wanted in his own life. Maybe he’s seeing her a different way now, asking for more. Maybe she hasn’t changed at all. But he’s seeing her as too well bred, too mature, too fussy.

  He glances at his wife, watches her wipe her face. He can’t imagine Kathy acting like this. He thinks of Kathy’s easy manner, how she seems in control of things. Character, gumption, sass—whatever you want to call it, Robert thinks she’s got it. Thank God. So many unhappy people in Manhattan, all whining about one thing or the other. Hard to imagine sometimes how the country ever got built.

  Anne snuggles closer. “You’re a good man, Robert.”

  He hugs her with his right arm, smiling uneasily. She rubs his thigh. In that tentative way she has. He never knows whether they’re going to do something or they’re not. It never seems quite right to say, “Damn it, Anne, are we screwing or aren’t we?”

  He reaches their street, then the driveway. Turns the motor off. “Come on, honey. We’ll get a nightcap. Something real expensive. You’ll feel better.”

  She puts her arms around his neck, leans on him. “Sorry I’m so silly tonight. It’s just a bad day.”

  Robert studies her face. She’s pretty in a sensible, no-nonsense way. The blond hair not too long, permed close to her head. Blond? Mousy is more like it. God, that’s it, we don’t even have kids, but Anne looks just the way a boy wants his mother to look. Nice but not too sexy.

  Robert kisses her nose, then turns to open the car door. Yeah, he thinks, they say you marry a woman like your mother. Or you marry your mother, deep down? How’s that go? Never mind. What a downer.

  He unlocks the front door to their house. Aware of Anne standing close to him. Maybe they are doing something. Yeah, he wants to. But he’s got this dread, already, that he’ll fantasize about Kathy. Won’t be able to stop himself. But he’ll feel guil
ty and, what the hell, the next thing you know, he’ll lose it. . . . Maybe two nightcaps.

  “Oh, it’s so beautiful and cold out here,” Anne says behind him. “Look at it, Robert. All the stars.”

  He turns around to look at the sky. Then, off to his right, he notices the huge red glow of Manhattan. Hot and sexy. He wonders what Kathy is doing. . . .

  He looks back toward Anne. Oh, damn, he thinks, she’s going to dance around on the lawn. Fucking stars just make me feel small. Shrivel a guy’s dick permanently. He remembers how morbid he could get at sixteen, looking up at the stars. Knowing they’d still be in the same spots when he was dead, and his children were dead, and their children. Fucking stars.

  Anne runs back to him, pushing him through the open front door. “So,” she says, in the accent she uses when she feels playful, “you are feeling perhaps wild and crazy tonight, young man?”

  Robert laughs. “How’d you know?”

  They go into the foyer. “Robert,” she exclaims, “hold me.” She leans against him and his big hands press against her back. Anne looks up at him. “You’re so reassuring,” she says.

  This makes him shrug awkwardly. He grins.

  Anne says in a girlish voice, “You did mention the good stuff? The twenty-year-old port perhaps.”

  “Oh, yeah, great,” Robert says.

  She stands on her toes, kisses him solemnly on the mouth. Robert stares at her through half-shut eyes. But she’s so nice, he thinks. Anne is so nice. The perfect wife. I always said that, didn’t I?

  “You’re not tired,” she says, “are you?”

  “Oh, no, wide awake.”

  “And raring to go,” Anne says, with a sweet nervous smile, as if she’s said something outrageous.

  Chapter

  5

  • Robert sits in the back of the place, the one Kathy found. It’s just off Lex, six blocks below where they work. Better than a dive, but not the kind of place other editors would go. “A good safe place,” Kathy said. Just hearing the word safe made him feel uneasy, guilty.

  He’s in a booth, staring at the front, watching, waiting. She’s a few minutes late. The first time they did this she was there ahead of him. He came in, saw her, it felt good. Now he has time to think, worry. He stares furtively at each of the people walking in the door, or walking by him. Does he know them? Could anybody recognize him? Does it make any difference? The light is very low. Still, he keeps the parka on, sitting there with his arms on the table, his shoulders hunched up to cover part of his face. He feels obvious, conspicuous. He always laughed at people sneaking out of porno stores or cruising the hookers on Tenth. Hell, he thought, if I do that, I’m not hiding. Bullshit. The more hiding the better, that’s how he sees it now.

  You don’t see anybody you know for years. Naturally he’d see someone here, now. Hey, Rob, how’s Anne? You alone? Can I join you? The obnoxious little scenario unrolls in his head. What’s up? You’re not waiting for somebody, are you? Business, Rob? Hey, you’re not . . . running around, are you? . . . Robert imagines snatching the guy up, throwing him over the bar. A little late. He knows. Everybody knows.

  Robert looks at his fingers, realizes he’s tapping the table. His body feels tense, his mouth dry. He hates waiting anyway. But now he’s waiting for Kathy, and they’re bound to be discovered, and besides they don’t have that much time.

  Just a little meeting, pretend it’s casual, no big deal, doesn’t mean anything. Well, what the hell does it mean?

  “Jesus,” he mutters.

  I just wish she’d come in the door. That smile. The way she glides in, a little cocky, a little flirtatious. Dressed up in a nice, elegant way, one of those executive outfits. But you don’t forget it’s a woman inside there. Not for a second. Oh, she makes sure of that.

  That’s the thing. She’s running this whole game? Controlling it? Feels like that sometimes. But for what? Love, lust, getting ahead? Or she’s this little girl falling for the big editor? Maybe a Cosmo girl, doing what that dumb magazine tells her to do, try some new adventure. Maybe she’s just friendly. Maybe she doesn’t fucking know. Damn it.

  Robert feels the insanity of being here. Drifting out of work a little early. Making excuses. Hell, lying. Trying to look invisible. Hoping nobody notices when he walks south instead of toward Grand Central. And for what? So he can sit across the table from her for a half hour?

  Jesus. Am I crazy?

  Ahhhhh. He sees her framed in the doorway. Fifty feet away, he can feel the heat of her, the joy. God, what a rush. He sits up straighter, stares at her, can’t help smiling.

  Come on, baby. Come on down here. I’m waiting just for you. . . .

  • • •

  Not much time left, if he’s going to catch the 6:04. Finally Robert says, “So why are we here?”

  That’s good, she thinks. Either the dumbest question she’s ever heard, or the smartest.

  She lets a few seconds go by. Then she makes a little shrug, answers in a low, sincere voice. “You have to ask?”

  Impulsively, her hands reach out, take one of his. The first time they’ve touched. He tries not to notice, not to gasp. He thinks his hand will catch fire.

  A tremor starts up from his left knee, stalks through his genitals and skids to a stop in the skin of his belly. Lovely and scary.

  “Damn,” he says aloud but softly. Trying to be casual. “Nice hands.”

  She laughs, squeezes his hand tighter. “That’s my line.”

  I’ve got a hard-on, he thinks, and I feel exactly like I’m sixteen. It was just like this. All hot glands and awkward everything. What do you do? What do you say? That’s just it. You never know. You just sit there with your tongue hanging out, and your dick sticking up, and you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do. Or what you want to do. Or how you feel.

  He struggles for some middle ground, no cheap jokes, no wild declarations. He wants to say, “This is a little, uh, unsettling for me.” Too wimpy? Instead he says, “You look real nice.”

  She nods, smiling in a serious way. Showing him she understands what he’s feeling, that she’s patient. Moving her fingers slightly, caressing the back of his hand.

  He glances down, sure there’ll be burn marks where she’s touching him. Actual red marks. No, his hands look completely ordinary. But the tingling, the electricity, going up and down his arm is astonishing. But what is it really? Desire? Wonderful, idiot desire? Or some weird playing with danger? Something he shouldn’t have, so he desires it more? And this desire, being so strong, so mixed up with guilt, seems more valid than any other thought or emotion? If he were single, if he could lean over and casually kiss her, would he feel even half of it?

  “This is nice,” Robert says, taking her hands briefly between his. “But it’s getting late. If I start now, I can walk it. Like I said,” he smiles, “you’re looking real nice.”

  He gets out his wallet, puts a ten on the table for their drinks.

  Kathy says, “I think it’ll be all right to leave with you.” There, that conspiratorial note. She’s good at letting it slip in now and then. They’re in this together. In deep.

  They stand up and move toward the door. She walks a half step behind him. He feels her fingers lightly clutching his elbow, or tickling it. A little secret communication: I’m here.

  Yeah, Robert thinks, like I’m going to forget.

  He pushes through the door, goes out onto East 36th, glancing nervously at the people walking by.

  Chapter

  6

  • Anne Saunders stares from one big monitor to the other, spread sheets on both screens. She leans back in her chair, glances at the clock on the wall, sighs, plays with a pencil.

  Yeah, clock, she thinks. My clock. What time is it? It’s late.

  The rows of figures blur. This company’s books are so unbalanced, she knows she’ll be struggling the rest of the day to put them in order.

  Robert, she thinks, seems not quite himself . . . or perhaps I
’m more needful. Probably it’s my fault. Oh yes, definitely. . . . The job’s not so challenging anymore. But I want that promotion. . . . The possibility of children floats before her mind, very real, and she scans the terrain for dangers to this idea. . . . I’m so sensitive to the little pluses and minuses. You think about the problems and you’re overwhelmed. It’s a wonder anybody has children.

  A knock on the door. She turns and sees Edd—“that’s two d’s”—Lawrence. “Hi, how’re you doing? Eating in? Want to try the cafeteria with me?”

  She stares at his bland, pleasant face. Just the sort of man who makes everyone think tax people are dull. The most interesting thing about him, she thinks, is the two d’s.

  “Oh, sure, Edd. I’m having a rough morning with Smithers, Inc.”

  “Oh, well,” Edd says casually, “just throw the IRS a VP, they’ll be happy.”

  Anne frowns. Not exactly the way she sees her job.

  She shuts the door to her office, and they walk down to the elevators.

  “The IRS usually wants money,” she says. “Or does the VP trick work for you?”

  “Just kidding,” he says with no smile. “But, hey, the books are a mess, maybe somebody’s been cooking.”

  “I hope not. I think it’s just a case of people finding more tax gimmicks than a corporate body can digest.”

  “Ah, the Nineties. I miss ’em.”

  They go up to 12, where the firm has a swank little cafeteria. The idea being to keep the drudges in the building. Anne takes the fish and salad. Edd takes the burger, fries, red jello, and chocolate mousse cake. As they’re sitting down, Anne says, “You in training?”

  Edd doesn’t see the joke, or won’t acknowledge it. “They make a good burger here.” He’s lean, almost stiff in his movements, wearing a navy-blue suit and white shirt. Close to her age, Anne thinks.

  “Right.” She smiles briefly. “So what’s new with you?”

  Edd shrugs. “Well, I keep getting more master points. You don’t play bridge, do you?”

  “Not well.”