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Anyone But You
Jennifer Crusie


Part basset, part beagle, all Cupid…For Nina Askew, turning forty means freedom—from the ex-husband, freedom from their stuffy suburban home, freedom to focus on what she wants for a change. And what she wants is something her ex always vetoed—a puppy. A bouncy, adorable puppy.Instead she gets…Fred.Overweight, middle-aged, a bit smelly and obviously depressed, Fred is light-years from perky. But he does manage to put Nina in the path of Alex Moore, her gorgeous, younger-by-a-decade neighbor.Alex seems perfect—he's a sexy, seemingly sane, surprisingly single E.R. doctor—but the age gap convinces Nina that anyone but Alex would be better relationship material. But with every silver-haired stiff she dates, the more she suspects it's the young, dog-loving doc she wants to sit and stay!









Anyone But You

Jennifer Crusie





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Meg Ruley, Fred’s godmother and my partner in crime and lit-ra-chure




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight




Acknowledgment


My heartfelt thanks to Laurie Grant for her ER expertise




Chapter One


The last thing Nina Askew needed was Fred.

“I want a puppy,” she said to the brown-uniformed woman behind the scarred metal counter at Riverbend Animal Control. “Something perky.”

“Perky.” The woman sighed. “Sure. We got perky.” She jerked her head toward the gray metal door at the end of the counter. “Through there, one step down.”

“Right.” Nina shoved her short dark curls behind her ears, grabbed her purse and walked through the door, determined to pick herself out the perkiest birthday present on four paws. So what if yesterday had been her fortieth birthday? Forty was a good age for a woman. It meant freedom. Especially freedom from her overambitious ex-husband and their overpriced suburban castle which had finally sold after a year of open-house hell. There was something good: she was out of that damn house.

And now she was forty. Well, she was delighted to be forty. After all, that was the reason she was getting a dog of her own.

The attendant joined her and said, “This way,” and Nina followed her toward yet another heavy metal door. She was going to get a puppy. She’d always wanted a dog, but Guy hadn’t understood. “Dogs shed,” he’d said when she’d suggested they get one as a wedding present to each other. She should have known that was A Sign. But no, she’d married him anyway and moved into that designer mausoleum of a house. And then she’d spent fifteen years following her husband’s career around, without a dog, in a house she’d grown to hate. Sixteen years in the house, if she counted this last year in divorced-woman limbo, waiting for it to sell. But now she had freedom and an apartment of her own and a great, if precarious, job. The only thing she needed was a warm, cheerful body to come home to.

The attendant opened the door, and the faint barking Nina had heard before became frantic and shrill. Nina stepped into the concrete cell block and stopped, blown out of her self-absorption by the row of gray metal cages where dogs barked to get her attention. She let her breath out, horrified. “Oh, God, this is awful.”

“Spay your pets.” The attendant stopped in front of the next to last cage. “Here you go.” She jerked her head again. “Perky.”

Nina went to join the woman and peered into the cage. The pups were darling—some sort of tiny, bright-eyed, spotted mixed breed—climbing over one another and tumbling and whining and barking. Perky as hell. Now all she had to do was choose one…

She moved closer and glanced in the last cage almost by accident. Then she froze.

There was only one dog in the cage, and it was midsize and depressed, too big for her apartment and too melancholy for her state of mind. Nina tried to turn back to the puppies, but somehow, she couldn’t. The dog had huge bags under his dark eyes, and hunched shoulders, and a white coat blotched with what looked like giant liver spots. He sat on the damp concrete like a bulked-up vulture and stared at her, not barking, not moving. He looked like her great-uncle Fred had before he’d died when she was six. She’d liked her uncle Fred, and then one day his heart had gone, as her mother had put it, and that had been it.

“Hello,” she said, and the dog lifted his head a little, so she stooped down and reached through the cage doors to scratch him behind the ears. He looked at her and then closed his eyes in appreciation for the scratch.

“What’s wrong with him?” Nina asked the attendant.

“Nothing,” the attendant said. “He’s part basset, part beagle.” She checked the card on his cage. “Or he might be psychic. This is his last day.”

Nina’s eyes opened wide. “You mean…”

“Yep.” The attendant sliced her hand across her throat.

Nina looked back at the dog. The dog looked back at Nina, death in his eyes.

Oh, God.

She stood and shoved her hair behind her ears, trying to look efficient and practical in an effort to be efficient and practical. She did not need this dog. She needed a happy, perky puppy, and on his best day, this dog would look like a professional mourner. And he wasn’t even a puppy.

Any dog but this one.

She looked down at the dog one last time, and her hair fell forward, a curly black frame for his depression. He bowed his head a little as if it had grown too heavy for him, and his ears sagged with the bow.

She could not take this dog. He was too depressed. He was too big. He was too old. She took a step back, and he sighed and lay down, not expecting anything at all, resigned to the cold hard floor and no one to love him and the certainty of death in the morning.

Nina turned to the attendant, and said, “I’ll take him.”

The attendant raised an eyebrow. “That’s your idea of perky?”

Nina gestured to the puppies. “They’ll all be adopted, right?”

“Probably.”

Nina took one long last glance at the tumbling, chubby puppies. Prozac with four legs and a tail. Then she looked at the other dog, depressed, alone, too old to be cute anymore if he ever had been. “I have a lot in common with this dog,” she told the attendant. “And besides, I’d never sleep again knowing I could have saved him and didn’t.”

The attendant shook her head. “You can’t save them all.”

“Well, I can save this one.” Nina crouched to the dog’s level. “It’s okay, Fred. I just rescued your butt.”

The dog rolled his eyes up to stare at her.

“No, don’t thank me. Glad to do it for you.” Nina stood up and followed the attendant down the hall. At the end, she turned, and Fred moved forward, pressing his nose through the bars. “Hey, it’s okay,” Nina called to him. “I’m coming right back as soon as I get you sprung from this joint.”

Fred moaned and stumbled back into the depths of the cage.

“Oh, yeah, you’re going to cheer me up,” Nina said and went to sign the papers and pay the fee.

He didn’t get much happier when the attendant opened the cage and he waddled out into Nina’s arms, fragrant beyond belief. “You stink, Fred,” she told him, and then she picked him up and held him to her, telling herself that her silk suit was dry-cleanable, and that at least it was brown and so was a lot of Fred so the dog hair wouldn’t show. He looked up at her and she added, “And you weigh a ton.” He was like dead weight in her arms, round and bulky, and most of his weight seemed to be centered in his rear end, which gave him a definite droop as she balanced his hip on hers. Still, as much as he reeked, it felt good to have her arms wrapped around him. “I saved you, Fred,” she whispered into his ear, and he twitched as her breath tickled him, patient but not by any means enthused about the new turn of events.

He perked up a little when she carried him out into the May sunlight, but he seemed annoyed when she tried to balance all of his weight on one hip while she maneuvered open the door to her white Civic.

“I was planning…on getting…a puppy,” she told him, breathing hard as she used her other hip to push the car door farther open. “I wasn’t planning…on getting a…part basset…part beagle…part lead-ass.” She managed to heave him into the seat and close the door, and then she leaned against the car to get her breath back. Fred rocked back and forth as he situated himself on the blue upholstery, and then he turned and smeared his nose on the window. “Good.” Nina sighed. “Make yourself at home.”

She got in the Civic and stuck the key in the ignition. Fred put his paws on the window ledge and smeared his nose higher. Nina thought longingly of the puppies.” You’re making me ill.” She leaned across him and began to roll down the window halfway. “Don’t jump out. Things just got better for you.”

Fred turned at the sound of her voice, and as she stretched over him still cranking the window, he looked deep into her eyes. Nina stopped rolling and stared back into the warm brown depths. He really was a sweet dog. Of course he wasn’t being peppy. In his situation, she’d be cautious, too. He didn’t know anything about her. She didn’t know anything about where he’d been. Maybe his previous people had been mean to him. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he needed love. Everybody needed love. Even she needed love. And now she had Fred.

Fred.

Nina closed her eyes. Terrific. She had Fred. Even her best friend was going to think she was nuts. “You bought a what?” Charity was going to say, and then when she saw Fred, middle-aged, broken-down and tired, she was going to—Nina looked into Fred’s patient brown eyes again and felt ashamed. “It’s okay, Fred.” She stroked the top of his head. “You’re my dog now. It’s okay.”

Fred met her eyes, squared his shoulders, and lunged at her, licking her from chin to forehead with one sweeping slurp.

“Oh, Fred.” Nina burst into tears and wrapped her arms around him. His body was fat and warm and wriggly, and Nina hugged him tighter, so glad to have someone alive in her life again and so relieved to finally be able to cry out the frustration and loneliness that she didn’t even care the someone had four legs and smelled like rank canine. “We’re going to be so happy, Fred,” she told him, sobbing. “We really are. We’re going to be wonderful together.”

Fred sighed and began to lick the tears from her face, which made Nina cry even harder. It was the best she’d felt in weeks.

She gave one final sniff and let go of Fred to put the car in gear so she could show him his new home and call his aunt Charity to come meet him.

“You have family now, Fred,” she told him. “You’re going home.”



ALEX MOORE WAS stretched out on a bed in an empty examining room in the Riverbend General ER, trying to forget his family and get some sleep before another emergency erupted when his older brother came in and dropped a brown paper bag with a six-pack of beer in it on his stomach.

“Hey!” Alex curled to absorb the blow and then saw it was Max and stretched back out again. Pain in conjunction with his family was nothing new. “I’m sleeping. Go away. And take that damn beer with you before somebody sees it.”

Max pulled the beer out of the sack and peeled off a can. He popped the tab and left the five remaining beers on Alex’s stomach as he collapsed into an orange plastic chair. The chair scraped and screeched on the floor, and Max’s purple silk shirt clashed against the green wall. Alex winced and closed his eyes, hoping Max would take the hint and leave.

Max didn’t. “You know, if you didn’t spend your nights chasing women, you wouldn’t get this tired during your shifts,” he said and sipped his beer.

Alex didn’t bother to open his eyes. “I did not spend my night chasing a woman. I took Debbie to dinner. She started talking about kids. I took her home. Story of my love life.”

“It’s because you’ve got that blond good-guy look,” Max told him. “You’ve got nice guy written all over you. Now me, I look like a rat.”

Alex kept his eyes closed as a hint. “Yeah, you do. Go away, rat.”

“Of course, it’s too late to pretend you’re a rat around here since everybody knows you. You should have changed the subject. ‘Speaking of kids, Debbie, how about some sex?’ You got to learn to be faster on your feet.”

Alex thought about snarling at him to go away and decided against it. He liked Max, and given his family, a relative he was usually happy to see was a rarity. “I don’t want to be faster on my feet. I just want to spend some nice quiet evenings with a woman who wants me more than she wants kids or a wedding ring. All the women I know have biological clocks and a burning need to commit. I want a woman who has a burning need to be with me and watch old movies and laugh. But right now, all I want is to sleep, which is why you’re leaving.”

Max swallowed some more beer. “It’s because you’re a doctor. Women always want to marry doctors.”

Alex opened one eye. “You’re a doctor. How come it doesn’t happen to you?”

“I try not to date anybody more than twice,” Max said. “It keeps the subject from coming up.”

“That’s real mature of you, Max.” Alex closed his eye again. “Now go away. For once there are no disasters out there, and I need some sleep.”

Max sipped his beer again. “This is your last day as a twenty-something, kid. How does it feel to be old?”

“You tell me,” Alex said. “You’re the one pushing forty.”

“Thirty-six is not forty,” Max said with dignity. “And you’re going to lose your hair before I do. It’s already creeping back from your forehead. I can see it from here.” He tipped the beer into his mouth this time and sucked up the last half of the can.

“Tell me you’re not still doing rounds.”

“Finished an hour ago.” Max pitched the can into a nearby wastebasket and slumped, as much as he could, in the plastic chair. “You off soon?”

“Three more hours. Go away.”

“So you ready for tomorrow?”

“It’s my birthday,” Alex said with his eyes shut. “It’s not something I have to get ready for. Other people have to get ready for it. You, for example. Go buy me something expensive. You make the big bucks.”

“Exactly,” Max said. “And you know why.”

Alex groaned and rolled away from his brother, who lunged to get the five-pack of beer as it tipped toward the floor.

“Hey!” Max said. “Avoid reality if you have to, but don’t spill the beer.”

Alex kept his back to him. “I’m not avoiding reality. I’m avoiding you. Go away.”

“I am reality, buddy,” Max said, and Alex heard the scrape of the plastic chair as his brother sat down again and the clank as he put the cans on the floor. “I ran into Dad just now. He was looking for you.”

Alex groaned again.

Max’s voice was sympathetic. “Yeah, I know. He wants to have dinner with you tomorrow.”

“No,” Alex said.

“I told him you would. Hell, it’s not like you could get out of it. He said to meet him at The Levee at seven. For drinks first.”

“Oh, hell.” Alex rolled onto his back again and stared at the stained acoustic ceiling. “You could have told him I was sick. You could have told him that you’d diagnosed me with something ugly and catching.”

“I’m a gynecologist,” Max said. “What was I supposed to tell him? You can’t do dinner because you got a yeast infection?”

“Would he have noticed?”

“Yeah,” Max said. “He was working, so he was sober.”

“Great. Just what I wanted on my birthday, to pour the old man into a cab at midnight.”

“I took care of that,” Max said. “I told him we had plans at nine. He understood.”

Alex gave him a withering look. “So I get to pour him into a cab at nine. Thank you.”

“It gets worse.” Max beamed at him, cheerful as always. “He said your mother’s coming to town tomorrow.”

Alex sat up. “My mother’s flying in for my birthday?”

“No,” Max said. “She’s flying in for a one-day seminar on the new laser technology. It just worked out that it’s your birthday.”

“Thank God.” Alex flopped back down on the pillow. “I thought she was going maternal on me.”

“She told Dad she wants to have lunch with you,” Max said. “Noon at the Hilton. Be on time, she’s speaking at one.” He picked up another beer from the floor and cracked it. “It’s a shame you’re still on duty. You could have one of these.”

“My mother,” Alex said to the ceiling. “An hour with my mother.”

“You’ve got an hour with my mother, too,” Max said after he’d taken another swig. “She wants to have a drink with you at four. She has surgery at one, so she figures she’ll be free by then.”

“I can stand an hour with your mother,” Alex said. “I think.”

“And I imagine Stella will be calling,” Max began.

“She already did.” Alex rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Breakfast tomorrow before she makes her rounds.”

Max winced. “Do you suppose she does everything in the morning because she’s the oldest?”

“No, she does everything in the morning because she’s a pain in the ass,” Alex said. “Even if she is my favorite relative.”

“Hey!” Max straightened in his chair. “What about me? I kept you from having to spend the entire evening justifying your lack of career to the old man. You owe me.”

“I have a career,” Alex said for the millionth time. “I’m a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you picked the wrong specialty,” Max said. “You have to pick upscale, not ER. They made me, now they’re going to make you. Cardiologist, oncologist, gynecologist—”

“No,” Alex said. “I like what I’m doing. Go away. I’m trying to sleep.”

A dark-haired little nurse poked her head in the door. “Hey, Alex, we need you. Accident coming in.” She disappeared again before he sat up.

Alex swung his feet around to the side of the bed and glared at Max. “If it hadn’t been for you, I could have had a whole fifteen minutes of unconsciousness.”

“That’s another thing,” Max said. “If you weren’t an ER specialist, she’d have called you Dr. Moore.”

The nurse poked her head back in. “Alex, let’s go. Oh, hi, Max. Didn’t see you there.” She frowned at him. “Get rid of that beer now.”

“Hi, Zandy.” Max lifted his beer to her. “You’re looking good.”

She was gone before he finished his sentence.

“The respect she has for you is awesome,” Alex said. “Must be because you’re not an ER specialist.”

“I dated her once,” Max said.

“That explains it.” Alex stood up and headed for the door. “Go away. I have to work.”

“Don’t forget tomorrow,” Max called after him. “Family day. The whole Farkle family.”

“Right,” Alex muttered under his breath as he strode down the green-tiled hall. “Dr. Farkle, and Dr. Farkle, and Dr. Farkle, and Dr. Farkle, and Dr. Farkle.”

“What?” Zandy asked him as she tried to catch up with him.

“Don’t ever go into the family business, Zan,” Alex said. “It’s hell being low man on the dynasty.”

“They trying to talk you out of the ER?” Zandy skipped a couple of times to keep up with him, her legs a good six inches shorter than his, so he slowed for her.

“Yep,” Alex said.

“Don’t do it.”

Alex looked down at her, surprised. “No?”

“No,” Zandy said. “You need this place. And it needs you. Ignore them. They’re all suits.”

Alex grinned at her. “Even Max?”

“Max is an ape,” Zandy said. “But you’re the good guy. Stay with us.”

“Well, I’m planning on it,” Alex began and then he heard the sirens and moved toward the doors, forgetting Zandy and Max and the whole Farkle family as he went to do what he loved best, saving lives on the run.



“YOU GOT a what?” Charity stood in the middle of Nina’s high-ceilinged apartment and stared at Fred, amazed.

“Charity, this is not just any dog.” Nina tensed, still doubtful herself about the wisdom of buying an animal for comfort. Charity wouldn’t buy a dog for comfort. She’d buy a red leather miniskirt at the boutique she managed, yank her long kinky red hair up on top of her head and tie it in a knot with a black stocking, and go out and find a new man. At least, that’s what she’d done the last time one of her relationships had pancaked on her, before she’d found Sean, her One True Love. Sean was actually her Twelfth True Love, but as Charity said, who was counting?

Since Nina’s chances of wearing a leather miniskirt were slim to none, she sighed and turned her attention back to Fred, sitting like a lump in the middle of her hardwood floor, looking up at her with bemused adoration. Fred was better than a leather miniskirt. He might not get her a new man, but he’d give her unconditional love. Fred was definitely better.

Charity didn’t see it that way. “You move out of that mansion on Lehigh Terrace and into this apartment in this Victorian hovel, on the third floor of this Victorian hovel, and there’s not even an elevator—”

“If you wouldn’t wear four-inch heels, two flights of stairs would not be a problem,” Nina murmured.

“—but that’s not bad enough, you’ve got to get a dog.” Charity blinked down at Fred. “That is a dog, isn’t it?”

Fred stood up, turned his back on her and walked away across the floor, his butt swaying majestically.

“Charity, I need Fred,” Nina said. “I feel better already. He has personality.”

Charity nodded. “That’s what I smell. His personality.”

“I didn’t want to give him a bath right away.” Nina watched Fred as he explored the living room, stopping to investigate her fig tree. “Don’t even think about it, Fred,” she warned him. Then she said to Charity, “I wanted him to feel at home first. He’s only been here an hour, but I had to call you right away. I knew you’d want to meet him.”

“If he’s been here an hour, he’s seen home.” Charity surveyed the apartment with disgust. “How you could move from your place to this…”

“I didn’t move from my place, I moved from Guy’s place.” Nina followed Charity’s eyes around the room, caressing the oak wainscoting and the tiny beige print wallpaper, the veneer fireplace and the fat ruby-upholstered couch and lopsided chair. “This is my place, the first place I’ve ever had that’s all mine. I loved it the first time I saw it. I’ve been here a month now, and I feel more at home than I did after sixteen years in that mausoleum of Guy’s.” The thought of Guy made her shake her head. “We should never have gotten married. We didn’t want any of the same things. I never wanted that house on Lehigh Terrace. He never wanted a dog.” Fred began to move again, and Nina felt the tension ease out of her shoulders as she watched the miscellaneous collection of independent canine parts that was Fred move past her on his way to the couch. “I always wanted a dog. And now I have Fred.”

Fred sniffed the couch again. He’d sniffed it several times since he’d arrived, but now he made a decision. His haunches quivered and tensed as he crouched, and then with a mighty leap he flung himself onto the overstuffed cushions, hanging there for a long moment, a triumph of hope over biology, only to slide slowly back to the floor and land with a soft thud as his butt failed to achieve lift-off.

He took it pretty well, considering.

Charity looked at her as if she were demented. “And you’re going to run up and down the stairs twenty-six times a night to water this animal, right? And what about during the day? You work, for God’s sake. I can just see Jessica’s face if you bring Fred into the office.” She shook her head, and her red ringlets bounced as they swung back and forth. “You’re nuts. I love you, but you’re nuts. Your divorce was just final, you’ve only been an editor for six months so there’s that stress and you’re settling into a new place. Why bring another headache into your life?”

Nina sighed and sat down. “Speaking of headaches, Jessica gave me a new book to work on. It’s worse than the last one.”

Charity looked disgusted. “Is she trying to bankrupt that press? She needs to publish something with some oomph in it.”

“No, she’s doing what her daddy did before her.” Nina watched Fred waddle over to them, the couch humiliation evidently forgotten. “She’s trying to keep the tradition going.”

Charity nodded. “Right into the toilet. She might as well call it the Boring Press.”

Nina closed her eyes. “I know it. The whole place is going to fold, and I’ll be out of work, and Jessica will kill herself because she’s brought the family institution to ruin. And I don’t know how to save it, so that depresses me. And I love this place, but it was lonely, and I was coming home so down about work and Jessica, and I just needed something warm to cheer me up.” She took a deep breath. “And that’s Fred. He’s already cheered me up. Just having him around cheers me up.”

Charity watched Fred as his chin sank closer to the floor. “I can see how he’d do that. Peppy little fellow.”

Nina ignored her. “And I have a plan for watering him. Come here.” She walked to the big window next to her couch and shoved up the heavy old windowpane. “See?”

Charity followed her, and Nina gestured to the black metal fire escape outside.

“The fire escape is only about a foot down from the window.” Nina stuck her head out. “This is the third floor, and the back is all fenced-in, and the gate is always closed except on trash day. So I’m going to train Fred to use the fire escape.” She pulled her head back in. “Isn’t that great?”

Charity nodded, and then patted her arm. “That’s great, Neen. It really is.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” Nina folded her arms across her stomach. “I’ve got everything I wanted. I was the one who left Guy, remember? I was the one who got fed up with the high life and living for his career. And it was the right thing to do. I love this apartment, and I love my job. It’s just—I get lonely.”

“I know.” Charity nodded. “It’s okay. I know.”

“I’m forty,” Nina said. “I know this is the prime of my life, I know this is when life begins, I’ve read all the articles, but I’m forty and I’m alone and—”

“I know.” Charity put her arms around her and held her tight. “I know. You’re going to be okay.”

Nina nodded against her friend’s shoulder. “I just wanted somebody to talk to at night and cuddle and watch old movies with. You know? So I got Fred.”

Fred waddled back toward them.

“Well, it’s a start.” Charity let go of Nina and looked at Fred. “What kind of dog is Fred?”

“Part basset, part beagle, part manic-depressive.” Nina frowned down at him. “Fred, could you cheer up, please? Look at what a great place you’ve landed in.”

“Yeah, and the best is yet to come,” Charity told him. “Wait till you see the fire escape she has for you.”

Fred sighed and lumbered on, and they watched him cross the room, his toenails clicking on the hardwood, before Nina said to Charity. “I just need one little favor.”

Charity nodded. “Sure.”

“Could you baby-sit Fred for me while I go out and buy a leash and food? I’d take Fred, but he sticks his head out the car window, and the wind blows up his nose and makes him sneeze, and the dog snot flies back in the car.” Nina looked at Fred with love. “It’s pretty disgusting.”

“I can imagine.” Charity picked up her purple suede bomber jacket. “No, I will not baby-sit this mutt for you. He looks like he’s going to end it all at any minute, and I don’t want to be responsible if he throws himself off the fire escape.” She looked down at Fred with resignation. “Make a list. I’ll go get him what he needs. Do they make uppers for dogs?”

“He’s not really depressed,” Nina told her as she went to find a pad of paper to make the list. “He’s just deep. He has deep thoughts.”

“Right. Deep thoughts.” Charity shook her head again. “Make that list. And while you’re at it, add Amaretto and ice cream to it.”

Nina stopped her search for paper. Amaretto milk shakes could mean only one thing: a My-Life-Is-In-Trauma party. And with Charity, who ran her life as efficiently as she ran the boutique, trauma could mean only one thing. “Not Sean, too?”

Charity nodded. “Sean, too. How do I do it? How can I live in a city full of men and always pick the rats?”

Nina searched for something comforting to say. “Well, they’re not always rats.”

“Oh, yeah?” Charity folded her arms. “Name the one who wasn’t.”

“Well…” Nina searched her memory. “Of course, I didn’t know you for all of them—”

“Twelve of them,” Charity said. “Twelve guys since I was sixteen, twelve significant guys since I was sixteen, twelve guys in twenty-two years, and I can’t come up with a winner.”

“You’re sure it’s over?” Nina tried to find a bright side. “Maybe he’s just having second thoughts because you’re both getting so serious. Maybe—”

“I caught him in bed with his secretary,” Charity said. “I don’t think she was taking dictation. Not with what she had in her hand.”

“Oh.” Nina wrote down Amaretto and ice cream on the list. Amaretto milk shakes might not be the healthiest way to get over a life trauma, but it was Charity’s way. Come to think of it, she could use one, herself. “Get chocolate syrup, too,” she told Charity. “Let’s go for the whole enchilada.”

While Charity went shopping, Nina and Fred practiced on the fire escape.

“Come on, you can do this,” Nina coaxed him, and together they climbed in and out over the low polished wood windowsill.

Fred was not crazy about the metal staircase, so Nina spread out a rag rug so he’d land on something soft.

On the other hand, he loved the leap from the window.

“Try not to overshoot,” Nina warned him, but the fire escape was wide, and Fred was not aerodynamic, so after an hour, Nina was content that Fred would not be plummeting to his death from overexuberance.

She was also sure it was time for Fred to see some grass. “It’s a shame you’re not a cat. I could just get a litter box,” she told him as she coaxed him down the two flights of fire escape with a piece of ham.

Fred whined a little as he eased himself down to the second floor.

“Shh.” Nina glanced in the closed window of the second-floor apartment. “I don’t know this guy yet. He keeps strange hours. Be very, very quiet here, Fred. We want the neighbors to love you.”

Fred shut up and eased himself down another step.

“I love you, Fred,” Nina whispered as she backed down the metal stairs. “You’re the best.”

By the time Charity came back, Fred had done the fire escape twice and was philosophical about it. “We’ll take walks, too,” Nina promised him. “But this is going to work.”

“He can do it?” Charity walked back into the room after putting the ice cream in the freezer and shook her head, amazed. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Fred is very intelligent,” Nina told her. “Watch.” She opened the window. “Here you go, Fred. Born free.”

Fred scrambled onto the box Nina had put by the window to aid his exit. He turned to look once over his shoulder, and Nina nodded.

Then he hurled himself through the window.

“Oh, my God!” Charity ran to the window, Nina close behind.

Fred sat on his rug on the fire escape, looking smug.

“Part basset, part beagle, part kamikaze,” Nina said. “We have to work on his takeoff, but he’s pretty good, don’t you think?”

Charity stepped back from the window. “I think he’s great.” She smiled at Nina. “I really do. He smells, but he’s great.”

“Well, that’s what I thought, too.” Nina watched Fred sway down the fire escape to the backyard.

“Here’s the rest of your stuff.” Charity handed over the paper bag she’d been clutching. “Your change is at the bottom.”

“Thanks, Char.” Nina dumped everything out onto her round oak dining table and pawed through it, stopping only when she found a small jeweler’s box tied with a silver ribbon in the middle of the pile.

“That’s a baby present,” Charity told her. “I’ll give you a shower later.”

Nina opened the box and took out an oval sterling-silver name tag engraved with Nina’s address under a lovely script “Fred Askew.”

“Oh, Charity, it’s beautiful,” Nina said.

“Just in case he gets lost.” Charity watched as Fred’s top half appeared in the window, wobbling back and forth as his toenails scrabbled on the brick outside. “Or stolen.”

“I think I’d better put a box outside, too.” Nina put the tag down and went to haul him in. “He seems to have a rear-end-suspension problem.”

“Among other things,” Charity said. “Listen, I’ve got to go.”

Nina put Fred on the floor and straightened. “What about the Amaretto?”

Charity bit her lip. “Can we do it tomorrow night? We both have to work tomorrow morning, and I’m going to need you a lot more tomorrow night since it’s a Friday and…you know.”

Nina nodded. “I know. Fridays are the worst. Sure. That’ll be better. You can spend the night.”

Charity looked down. “That all right with you, Fred?”

Fred sighed and waddled off.

“He’s delighted,” Nina said.

“Yeah, I could tell he perked right up,” Charity said. “See you tomorrow.”



THE PHONE WAS RINGING when Alex let himself into his stuffy second-floor apartment. He answered it, cradling the receiver between his shoulder and his ear as he struggled to put the window up and let a little air into the place. “Alex?”

Great. Debbie. “Yep, it’s me.” Alex stuck his head out the window, trying for some fresh night air. The hell with it. He climbed out the window and sat on the fire escape, taking off his shoes and socks and throwing them back in through the window as he talked. “What’s up?”

Debbie’s voice was relentlessly cheery. “I thought we might do something tomorrow since it’s your birthday. And my sister’s kids want to go to the movies, so I thought we could—”

“Sorry,” Alex lied.

“Alex, if you’d just try—”

“No, really, I’m booked the whole day with my family. One after another the whole damn day.”

“Why?” Debbie sounded frustrated. “Why can’t they see you all at once?”

“Because they’re all trying to talk me into specializing in their areas.” Alex flexed his toes in the breeze and felt better. Maybe if he gave up wearing shoes—

“Well, I think they’re right,” Debbie said. “If you specialized in something else, you’d make more money.”

“I have all the money I need.” Alex stripped off his white T-shirt while she was talking, so he missed what she said next. “Give me that again?”

“I said, you have loans to pay off. Being in debt isn’t bad for a bachelor, but what about when you want to get married and have kids?”

Alex sighed and threw his shirt through the window. “Debbie, we’ve had this discussion. I don’t want kids.”

“Well, not right now, but someday you’ll want a family and then—”

“I have a family,” Alex said. “They drive me nuts. Why would I want another one?”

“A family of your own,” Debbie said.

“Debbie, you’re not paying attention. I don’t want kids. Ever.”

There was a long silence on the end of the phone, and Alex realized that she’d heard him for the first time.

“I do,” she said.

“I know,” Alex said. “That’s why I’ve been trying to warn you. I like you a lot. I have a good time with you. But I don’t want kids. I don’t even want to get married. I’ve had family up to here. I don’t want any more.”

“Well.” Debbie cleared her throat. “Well, all right. I guess there’s not much point in us seeing each other anymore then, is there?”

“Not unless you just want to kick back and have a good time.” Alex knew he was supposed to be panicking at her ultimatum, but all he could dredge up was a mild willingness to try again. “We could see some movies. Talk. Just be us together for a while. Get to know each other.”

“Alex.” Debbie’s voice was tight with controlled anger. “We’ve been dating for six weeks. We know each other. We have seen enough dumb movies and done enough talking. I want a future. I want it all.”

“Well, I hope you get it,” Alex said cheerfully. “Good luck.”

Debbie hung up on him.

Alex put the phone on the windowsill and leaned back against the fire escape again, trying to decide if he was depressed that Debbie was gone. He wasn’t. In fact, the only depressing part was that he wasn’t depressed. He should be depressed. Debbie was a very nice woman, but he didn’t care at all that she was out of his life.

He was a slime. Worse, he was turning into Max.

Still, he’d stuck it out with Debbie for six weeks. That was pretty good. Maybe next time, he’d find a woman who was happy just to be with him, cruising through life and the video store, without a need to produce more family obligations that would make him crazier than he already was.

There was Tricia, the little blonde in the business office. She’d asked him to dinner once, but he’d turned her down gently because of Debbie. She seemed nice. Maybe Tricia would be more interested in food and Casablanca than in planning car pools and country-club memberships. Maybe he’d call her if he lived through his birthday tomorrow without being sent to prison for strangling a family member.

The fire escape was cutting into the muscles in his back so he sat up and stretched and crawled through the window. The couch was close enough to catch a little of the breeze. All he needed was sleep. With any luck, he’d sleep through his birthday and not have to see anybody before he went back to work on Saturday.



LATER THAT NIGHT, Nina relaxed on her overstuffed couch with Fred heavy and warm beside her, now redolent of both the dog shampoo she’d washed him with and the Duende perfume she’d spritzed him down with on a whim. He’d been annoyed, but she’d bribed him with gourmet dog biscuits, and he was happy now, sighing in his sleep while she watched Mel Gibson blow up something on TV.

She had the sound off so she could watch Mel without having to listen to him, and the traffic rumbled faintly outside in the May night, punctuated now and then by the sirens of the ambulances heading for Riverbend General two blocks away, reminding her that humanity was close at hand. Best of all, Fred was warm beside her, and for the first time that day, she felt secure enough to turn her full attention to her problems. With Fred around, they didn’t seem so bad.

One problem was her job. She’d started as a secretary to Jessica Howard of Howard Press, a woman whose beige-suited exterior hid a warm heart and an appreciative spirit, and within six months Jessica had promoted her to editor. That was good. Unfortunately, she was editing memoirs of upper-class stiffs who’d never had an original thought, and collections of essays by academics on topics so obscure that even if they were original nobody cared. “Did you ever think about branching out?” she’d asked Jessica. “Into fiction? Something popular like romance novels? I hear they do very well.”

Jessica had looked at her as though she’d suggested prostitution. “Popular fiction? Not in my lifetime. I’ll pass Howard Press on to the next generation as honorably as it was passed to me.”

Nina had repressed the impulse to point out that the press might not survive Jessica’s lifetime. In fact, if the figures she’d seen while she’d been Jessica’s secretary were accurate, Howard Press might not survive lunch. And it was such a shame. Jessica was a good person who loved books; she should have a successful press. Unfortunately, Jessica wouldn’t have known a bestseller if it bit her.

Nina cuddled Fred closer. “Want to write a book, Fred? That dog in the White House made a mint, and she didn’t have near your class.”

Fred snored and twitched.

Nina kissed the top of his sweet-smelling head. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Her other problem was the loneliness. It had been bad this last week, being in a new place and being so lonely. She’d been lonely before in the big house, but she was used to being lonely there. Her marriage had been a series of important parties and important charities and important career moves for her husband, but after the first couple of years, not much warmth and not much fun. She and Guy had laughed together at first, but then his future had gotten in their way, and the fun had stopped. That’s the way it was with professional men: they thought they were their careers and they forgot how to have fun while they built empires. And she’d been Mrs. Empire, feeling emptier and emptier until she’d finally gotten up the courage to leave Guy, to file for divorce and go looking for a life of her own, hoping for warmth and good times.

He’d been stunned when she’d told him she was leaving. “Why?” he’d said. “I never cheated on you.” And Nina, annoyed that he’d missed how empty their lives had become, had said, “Good, I never cheated on you, either.” And Guy had said, “Of course not. You’re not the type. And now you’re going to live the rest of your life alone? You’re almost forty, Nina. You’re not going to find anyone else at your age. Why don’t you go get a facial? That always makes you feel better.”

She’d thought he was wrong, thought it would be better once she had a place of her own, but she’d only been in the apartment a week when she’d realized what Guy had been talking about: lonely was lonely, no matter where you lived. He just hadn’t realized that it had been lonelier living with him than without him. She gathered Fred to her and put her cheek on his furry little head, grateful to have him with her.

Her mother had been even blunter than Guy. “You’re leaving Guy just as your body’s going. You’ve put on weight, you’ve got crow’s-feet and I’m sure you’re sagging in more places than just your jawline. This is a mistake. Tell Guy you’ve changed your mind.” And when Nina had said, “No,” her mother had washed her hands of her. “Fine. Leave the money and society to be some drab, middle-aged divorcée. It’s your life. But don’t come crying to me when you realize what you’ve done.”

Even Charity had put her two cents in. “Your mother’s an ice cube and always has been. Forget her. But I’ve got to tell you, Neen, it’s a jungle out there. Guerilla dating. Brace yourself.”

Well, she wasn’t going to brace herself, because she was not going looking for another man. From now on, she was building her own life and staying as far away from men as she could. She had her career, her apartment, and now she had Fred, too.

Fred stirred again, and Nina held him close. Now she had Fred to come home to, and he was all she was ever going to need. Fred would always love her and would never leave her. “We’re going to be together forever,” she told him. Then she fell asleep with her arms around him, his snores echoing in her ears.



DEBBIE WAS LICKING wet, sloppy kisses on his face. “No,” Alex mumbled. “No, I don’t want kids.” He tried to push her nose away until somewhere in the recesses of his sleep-fogged mind he remembered that Debbie’s nose hadn’t been long and furry. Then he opened his eyes and screamed.

There was an animal on the couch next to him.

Alex sat up and the animal rolled off and landed on the floor with a thud.

“What the hell?” Alex turned on the lamp, and the soft light flooded the room and showed him the thing at his feet.

It was a basset hound with all four legs in the air, looking like inflated road kill.

Alex bent down. “Hello?”

The dog rolled over slowly, blinking at him in reproach. This dog was very good at reproach. In fact, this dog could make Hannibal Lecter feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” Alex told him. “You scared me.” He scratched the dog behind the ears, and the dog’s eyes closed as he gave a little doggy moan. “Where you from, buddy? Better yet, how’d you get in here?”

He looked over at the apartment door: closed shut. That pretty well meant the window. He looked at the dog in disbelief. “You came in the window? What are you, Superdog?”

He walked over and stuck his head out the window. The back gate was shut tight. “You must live here in the apartments.”

The dog turned his back and waddled to the door, but Alex caught a glint of metal on his collar before he turned.

“Wait a minute.” Alex followed him to the door and bent down to read the tag. Fred Askew, it said. 2455 River Dr., Apt. 3. “You’re one floor up, Fred, old buddy,” he told the dog as he picked up his shirt, “let’s go see if anybody’s home.”




Chapter Two


Nina stretched and squinted at the clock on the mantel. Eleven. Time to wake up, put Fred out and go to bed.

Fred?

Fred wasn’t next to her anymore. She leaned off the couch to look under the end table, but he wasn’t there. Suddenly the apartment seemed too quiet, and she went from bedroom to kitchen to living room calling Fred’s name.

He was gone. She’d fallen asleep, and he was gone. She stuck her head out the window and searched the yard anxiously for him.

No Fred.

She crawled out the window and ran down the two flights of fire escape, desperately searching the pavement below for Fred’s broken body.

No Fred.

She paced the backyard in the dark, inch by inch, looking behind and even in the Dumpster, just in case Fred had developed aspirations and had managed to climb inside.

No Fred.

The back gate was still locked, and the fence was too high for any dog to have jumped over, let alone the aerodynamically challenged Fred.

Nina climbed back up the fire escape, her throat tight with fear and loss, and crawled through the window, not sure what she was going to do next. She sank into her big armchair and tried to think.

Call the pound. Call the police. “I’ve lost my dog. He’s part basset, part beagle, part darling.”

“Oh, Fred,” Nina mourned out loud, and then jumped when someone knocked on her door.

The guy at the door was tall, blond, broad-shouldered and boyishly good-looking, and when she blinked up at him and said, “Yes?” he leaned against the doorjamb, loose-limbed, careless and confident. “Would you be Fred Askew’s mother?” he asked, and then she looked down and saw Fred sitting bored at his feet, his little silver ID tag glinting in the light from the hall.

“Fred!” Nina shrieked and dropped to her knees to gather him into her arms. “Oh, Fred, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Fred slurped his tongue over her face and then struggled to get free of her. Nina let him go and stood up, wiping her hand across her face to get rid of most of his spit. “Thank you.” She beamed at Fred’s rescuer. “Thank you so much. Where did you find him?”

“He was sitting on my couch when I woke up.” He held out his hand. “I’m Alex Moore. I live in the apartment below you.”

Nina wiped her fingers on her skirt and shook his hand, a little dazed. “On your couch? He was sitting on your couch?”

“Surprised me, too.” Alex grinned at her. “I think he came in from the fire escape.”

His grin was a killer, broad and friendly and a little evil, and Nina felt her pulse flutter in response. No, she told her pulse and turned to frown down at Fred. “I told you, it’s two flights. You have to climb all the way to the third floor, Fred. You can’t just pick any window and climb in.”

Fred did the dog equivalent of a shrug and walked away.

Alex raised his eyebrows. “You trained him to climb the fire escape?”

Nina bit her lip. “I was hoping no one would notice. I’m sorry. I—”

“No, I think it’s great. Weird, but great.” He grinned at her again, and Nina was struck by how nice he looked. Not handsome or distinguished like Guy. Just comfortably good-looking. Warmly good-looking. Stirringly good-looking.

And he couldn’t possibly be thirty yet.

This was a bad sign. It was also understandable since she’d been celibate for a year, but it was still a bad sign. This guy was a child. If she kept this up, she’d be buying a Porsche and cruising the local high schools.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Moore,” she began and stopped when he shook his head.

“Alex.” His eyes went back to Fred. “How long has he been climbing the fire escape?”

“Just since this afternoon,” Nina said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes came back to hers, brown and kind and alive with intelligence and humor, and she clamped down on any strange thoughts she might be having. “If Fred hadn’t climbed in my window, I wouldn’t have met you,” he said, “and I think knowing your neighbors is important. Of course, I haven’t met you yet. Let’s try this again.” He held out his hand again. “I’m Alex Moore.”

“Oh.” Nina took his hand, flustered. “I’m Nina Askew.”

“Hello, Nina Askew.” His hand was large and warm, and he had lovely long fingers, and Nina pulled her hand away as soon as she realized she was having thoughts about his fingers.

“Hey!” he said, and Nina flinched before she realized that he was looking beyond her. She turned just in time to see Fred fling himself out the window, and she said, “No, Fred!” as Alex moved past her.

She followed him to the window and watched with him as Fred waddled down two flights of stairs to the backyard where he promptly watered the Dumpster.

“Smart dog.” Alex quirked an eyebrow at Nina. “Did you teach him to do that?”

“I taught him the stairs,” Nina said. “He already knew how to lift his leg.”

“Smart woman,” Alex said, smiling into her eyes.

Oh, boy. “Would you like a Coke?” Nina asked and then kicked herself for asking. The last thing she needed was an incredibly sexy underage male drinking Coke in her kitchen.

“Love one,” Alex said.



FOR AN UGLY DOG, Fred had a very cute mother.

Once Fred had scrambled back through the window, Alex followed Nina into the kitchen, trying not to admire the swing of her round hips in her wrinkled brown skirt. He was pretty sure she’d just woken up: her short dark curls were rumpled and her big dark eyes were still a little sleepy and her pale pointed face was creased from a pillow somewhere. Pillows made him think of beds, which only led to one thing, and he told himself to knock it off or he’d end up like Max.

Of course, Max was a pretty happy guy.

Alex sat down at the table, trying not to stare at the soft curves in front of him. Very attractive woman, Fred’s mother. He owed Fred.

She took two blue-checked mugs from the cupboard and opened the freezer door, automatically putting her free hand up to push the large glass-covered pot on the top of the fridge farther back. Then she scooped ice into the mugs and nudged the door closed, and Alex admired her efficiency and her arms at the same time.

When she took two cans of soda out of the fridge and put the mugs and cans in front of him on the round oak table, he saw her face clearly for the first time, the tiny lines around her dark brown eyes, the softness in her face. She was Max’s age, maybe a little older. Her face looked settled, not serene exactly, but not the searching, anxious look that Debbie’s face had. She looked wonderful and comfortable and centered in herself, and he wanted to tell her so, but he stopped in time. She might think it was a pass.

Which it would be, come to think of it, and that would be a bad idea since she lived right above him, and if she took offense, there’d be tension whenever they met. And if she didn’t take offense at the pass, she would later when he explained he didn’t want to get married. He had enough problems; no point in screwing up the place he lived, too.

“Thank you,” he said, and she said, “Thank you for bringing Fred home.” Then she smiled at him, and he felt a little dizzy for a minute.

“I’m sorry Fred came through your window,” she said.

“I’m not,” Alex said. “This way we get to talk. It’s a good building, and now it’s better because you’re here.” She flushed, and he thought, not used to getting compliments, huh? and wondered if there was a man in her life and if so, why wasn’t she used to getting compliments?

“I haven’t met the other people yet.” She poured herself a Coke before she sat opposite him. “Well, I’ve met the landlord on the first floor, of course. And I hear somebody go by on the way up to the fourth-floor apartment sometimes, but I hate to open the door and introduce myself. It seems pushy.”

Alex laughed. “The fourth floor is Norma Lynn. She loves pushy. In fact, I think she invented it. She’s seventy-five—”

Nina blinked. “And she’s on the fourth floor? That’s awful!”

“No, it isn’t.” Alex sat back and watched her outrage. Nice woman. “Norma had her pick of apartments when this place was first chopped up.”

Nina seemed confused. She looked good confused, too. “She wanted the fourth floor?”

“Norma is in better shape than you and me put together,” Alex said and then thought, Well, not in better shape than you, and squelched the thought of the two of them put together. He had to stop hanging around with Max; he was turning into a rat. “She climbs those stairs at least twice a day on her way back from yoga and her self-defense class, which is why, as she will tell you, she has the quadriceps of a sixteen-year-old. She also has an exercise bike that she keeps on the fire escape, which is illegal, but she doesn’t care. If you put your head out the window at daybreak every day, you can see Norma peddling away. Norma is going to outlive us all.”

“Good for her,” Nina said. “Maybe I should take her some tea or something. Does she get lonely?”

“Norma? She plays bridge on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, teaches piano on Mondays and Wednesdays and holds a readers’ group on Friday nights. I know because she’s invited me to all of them.”

Nina smiled, delighted with Norma, and Alex smiled back, delighted with Nina. “Did you go?” she asked.

“She trashed me at bridge and told me I was tone-deaf at the piano,” Alex said. “I haven’t faced the readers’ group yet. I don’t read much.”

“Maybe I’ll go up some evening,” Nina said, and Alex shook his head, hating to mess up such a nice plan but knowing Norma wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Don’t do it. Rich comes to call in the evenings. Every evening.”

“Rich?”

“Her younger man.” Alex watched Nina’s face flush again and thought how pretty she looked flushed. “He’s sixty-two. Norma says most guys can’t keep up with her, but Rich has no problem. Of course, Rich also runs the marathon every year and finishes in the top fifty, so he’s no slouch, either. They’re both great, but I wouldn’t drop by there uninvited at night for anything. They like their privacy.”

“I’ll just have to open my door when she’s going by sometime, then,” Nina said. “She’s not shy, right?”

“Right.”

“What about dogs?” Nina looked anxious again. “Will she be upset about Fred?”

“Only if he pees on her exercise bike,” Alex said. “Norma’s pretty easygoing.”

Nina looked down at the pile of bones and skin that Fred melted into every time he collapsed somewhere. “Don’t pee on Norma’s bike, Fred.”

Fred snored.

“I think he’s got it,” Alex said. “Sharp dog.”

“And don’t go in Alex’s window, either,” Nina went on, and Alex said, “Well, let’s not get carried away here. I can always use the company.”

Nina smiled at him again, warm and serene and welcoming, and he blinked, wondering why he was having such a hard time remembering his place in the conversation. There was no reason for her to be confusing him like this. He was hardly over his relationship with…with…

Oh, hell.

Nina said, “Are you all right?” and he thought, Get out of here, Alex, she’s fogging your mind. Who the hell had he been dating? She’d been blond, he remembered that. Time to get out. He stood up and said, “I’m great, but I’d better go now. Thanks for the Coke.”

She followed him to the door, thanking him again for returning Fred, while he tried to remember the name of the woman he’d been seeing for six weeks. Why couldn’t he remember? It had to be age. He was going to be thirty tomorrow, and already the mind was going. Whatshername had had a narrow escape; their kids would have done lousy on the SATs, and she was the type who would have cared. What the hell was her name?

“Debbie,” he said, and the woman in front of him said, “No, Nina.”

He blinked down into her dark, dark eyes, which was how he’d gotten in this mess in the first place. “I know you’re Nina, I was just trying to remember the name of my…uh, dog.”

“You have a dog?” Nina beamed. “That’s why Fred came through your window. Looking for a friend.”

“No. Debbie was my…never mind.” Alex shook his head. “Anyway, Fred had the right idea. I could use a friend, myself.”

She held out her hand. “Well, you’ve got two upstairs now. We really appreciate you coming to the rescue.”

He took her hand, trying to ignore how soft and warm it was while he appreciated her, too. Knock it off, he told himself and dropped her hand. “Got to go. See you, Fred,” he called back over his shoulder and then he escaped into the hall and down the stairs.

On the way down, he met Rich, looking disgustingly healthy in jeans and a gray-striped shirt that matched the gray in his hair, on his way up to Norma’s with a pizza.

“Hello, Alex.” Rich punched him in the arm. “Not making time with my woman, are you?”

“Rich, you know Norma wouldn’t look twice at me. I couldn’t keep up her pace.” Alex nursed his bicep where Rich had pounded him. Rich had a mean punch. “I was in three, meeting the new tenant.”

“Ah.” Rich nodded. “I saw her the other day. Very nice-looking.” He squinted at Alex. “She’s older than you are.”

“You should talk,” Alex said.

“No, no, that’s good.” Rich leaned closer. “Older women know things.”

Alex hated to ask, but he had to. “What kind of things?”

Rich raised his eyebrows. “Things. You’ll find out.” He sighed. “Of course, she’s no Norma. They broke the mold when they made Norma.”

“I always figured Norma broke the mold because she didn’t want the competition,” Alex said, and Rich roared with laughter.

“Didn’t want the competition. Wait’ll I tell Norma. She’ll love that one.”

“Yeah, and if she doesn’t, she’ll come down and beat the crap out of me,” Alex said, and Rich laughed again and went jogging up the stairs with Norma’s pizza.

“Older women, huh?” Alex said to his retreating back, but Rich was too far away to hear.



“I READ AN ARTICLE on menopause yesterday,” Nina said to Charity, who was sitting on the oriental rug on Nina’s living-room floor, looking elegant and sexy in a black silk catsuit. Nina looked down at her own blue-striped cotton pajamas and sighed. You are what you wear, she told herself, and went back to the feast that she and Charity had assembled on the floor around them: nonfat pretzels, nonfat potato chips and a blender full of chocolate Amaretto milk shake.

And Fred.

Fred was turning out to be a world-class mooch.

Charity rolled her eyes and fed Fred a pretzel, which he took gently in his mouth, dropped on the ground, pushed with his nose, examined closely, and then, deciding it was exactly like the other three pretzels he’d had earlier, ate. “Don’t rush into anything, Fred,” Charity told him and then turned back to Nina. “Why are you reading about menopause, for heaven’s sake?”

“Because I’m forty now.” Nina crunched into a pretzel. “It said that perimenopause starts in the forties.”

“Nina, you’ve been forty for about forty-eight hours. Estrogen deprivation won’t start for at least another week.” Charity leaned over Nina’s blue-striped lap to grab the potato-chip bag. “I can’t believe you’re torturing yourself like this.”

“There was a list of symptoms,” Nina went on. “Warning signs. They were awful.”

“Hot flashes.” Charity nodded. “I get those every time I think of Sean. Only I think it’s rage not menopause.”

“One of them is that your pubic hair starts to thin,” Nina said.

Charity stopped with a chip halfway to her mouth. “I did not need to know this.”

Nina nodded. “So I was in the shower last night and I looked, but the thing is, I never paid that much attention before, so I don’t have any idea if mine’s thinner.”

Charity dropped the chip back into the bag. “Nina, honey, you’re losing your grip.”

Nina stuck her chin out. “I just want to know. I want to be prepared.”

Charity shrugged and went back to the chips. “So ask Guy.”

Nina shot her a withering look. “Ask my ex-husband to check my pubic hair to see if it’s thinned in the year we’ve been divorced? No, I don’t think so.”

Charity beamed at her. “Well, there’s always Rogaine.”

“Thank you very much.” Nina slurped up more of her milk shake. “And then there’s this thing I’m developing for younger men. I was watching ‘Friends’ the other night and caught myself wondering what Matthew Perry is like in bed.”

“I’ve wondered that myself,” Charity said. “You know, whether he’d stop wisecracking long enough to—”

“Charity, I could have given birth to Matthew Perry.”

Charity looked at her with patient contempt. “Nina, Matthew Perry is not a real person. He’s an actor. He doesn’t count. Now, if you were having hot thoughts about Macaulay Culkin, I’d worry. But Matthew Perry, no.”

“He counts,” Nina said stubbornly.

“Hell, I think about James Dean and he’s dead,” Charity went on. “That doesn’t mean I’m heading for the cemetery with a shovel. Fantasy is not the same as reality. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“It’s happening in reality, too,” Nina said. “I met my downstairs neighbor yesterday, and I was thinking about how much fun he looked and what great hands he had, and I swear, he can’t be more than twenty-five. It’s only a matter of time until I’m cruising the high schools.”

Charity sat up straighter, which made her black silk move against her curves. It was a shame there wasn’t a man around to watch Charity move, Nina thought. The whole effect was sort of wasted on her and Fred.

Fred was investigating the potato-chip bag.

“Downstairs?” Charity said, pushing Fred’s nose out of the bag. “You didn’t mention any guy downstairs. Who is he? What does he do? Is he married?”

Nina tried to look quelling. “I told you. He’s just a baby.”

“I like babies,” Charity said. “As long as they’re not mine. This could be good. Tell me about him.”

Nina glared at Charity and her black silk, a combination that could seduce any man of any age. “You’re going to jump my infant neighbor?”

“No,” Charity said patiently. “I’m going to talk you into jumping your infant neighbor. If he’s not married.”

“He’s not,” Nina said, slumping a little. “At least there was no ring, and he didn’t mention a wife.”

Charity snorted.

Nina gave her a severe look. “And you’re not talking me into anything anyway, so just drop it.”

“Is he cute?” Charity asked. “What does he do for a living?”

The image of Alex lounging at her table, broad-shouldered and confident, came to mind, but Nina evicted it at once. “Yes, he’s cute. I have no idea what he does for a living. Probably something involving a small hat and French-fry oil. He doesn’t look too focused.”

“That’s wonderful.” Charity sat back, so enthused she fed Fred a potato chip. Fred ate it cautiously since it wasn’t a pretzel. “This is great. Make him your toy boy. If he’s got some kind of McJob, you won’t end up being a corporate wife, and since he’s young, he’ll still be interested in sex. This is perfect.”

Nina glared at her because the thought was so tempting. “It is not perfect. I’m not dating somebody who’s fifteen years younger than I am. I’m not dating again at all, I like being free and not having to go to stupid dinners and dress up for somebody else’s career, but if I was going to start dating again, it would not be this guy.” She thought again of Alex, loose-limbed and long-fingered in her doorway and way, way too young for her. If she started dating him or, dear God, sleeping with him—she swallowed at the thought—people would say she was in her second childhood. People would look at them on the street and wonder what he saw in her. Guy would sneer. Her mother would roll her eyes. His friends would make jokes about Oedipus Alex. She’d be obsessing over thinning pubic hair, and he’d be playing air guitar.

Worst of all, if she slept with him, she’d have to take off her clothes and her mother was right: her body was forty years old. The whole idea was impossible.

And he wasn’t interested in her, anyway. Just what she needed, to start fantasizing about a man who thought of her as a mother figure and who just by existing would make her feel older than she already did. She’d end up literally working her butt off to try to look younger than she was instead of enjoying the freedom she had now. “It would be too humiliating,” she finished. “Not Alex. Anyone but Alex.”

Charity grinned. “Why not? He’s never seen your pubic hair before. He won’t notice the thinning.”

Nina sighed. “And to think you’re my best friend.”

“Damn right, chickie,” Charity said, going back to the chips. “That’s why I’m giving you this great advice. Break the kid’s heart. He needs it for the growth experience, and it’ll make you feel so much better about the divorce. Trust Aunt Charity. When it comes to romance, she knows. Besides, it’ll make Guy crazy.”

Nina shook her head and changed the subject before Charity talked her into something stupid. “Forget Guy. My real problems are not with Guy or the infant downstairs, they’re with Jessica.”

Charity tilted her head in sympathy. “Poor baby. Is this that boring book you told me about?”

Nina nodded. “Some upper-class twit’s prep-school memoirs. I thought the rich were supposed to be depraved, but this guy never even short-sheeted a bed. It is the most tedious stuff I’ve ever waded through.”

Charity picked up her shake and stirred it with her straw. “Seems to me, the idea behind a memoir is to have something to remember.”

“Not if you’re rich,” Nina said.

Charity leaned back, thoughtful. “Now, I could write a hell of a memoir. When I think of the trauma I’ve lived through—” She shook her head in self-amazement and slurped up some milk shake.

Nina snorted. “I should have you ghostwrite this book for this guy. Graft some of your sex life onto his non-life.”

“I should write my own book,” Charity said. “It’s about time I had a career instead of a past.”

Nina smiled and fed Fred a chip. That would be one hell of a book: Charity’s life between covers, one disaster after another, described the way Charity had described it to her over the years.

Nina stopped smiling. It would be one hell of a book. She looked at Charity. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Charity said. “So why aren’t I rich and married and getting great sex nightly?”

Nina leaned forward. “Can you write, Charity?”

Charity looked at her, annoyed. “Of course I can write. I can read, too.”

“No.” Nina grabbed her arm to get her attention. “I mean, can you write? Prose. Could you write a book?”

Charity blinked at her. “A book?”

“Your memoirs.” Nina leaned closer. “I know your breakups must have been awful at the time, at all the times, but you’re really funny when you talk about them. Could you write a funny, sexy book about your past love life?”




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