couch.”
“The perfect evening.”
“I rest my case.” Cat looked smug. “Now listen, sweetie, I’m sorry I wasn’t home Friday, but you’re welcome to come and sleep on my couch for as long as you want. I’d adore it.”
“Thanks, Cat, but I might as well stay at Jack’s, now I’m there.”
“Is that the tall blond guy who was at the beach party last year?”
“If he was carrying a six-pack of nymphets, probably.”
“Mmm-mmm.” Cat smacked her lips in a vulgar Italian manner. “Maybe you should introduce me properly one day.”
Freya frowned. “You just said you were off men.”
“I said marriage was an untenable position for a feminist. I can always research my theory.” Cat’s eyes sparkled.
“Well . . . just so long as you understand that Jack is not marriage material.” Freya felt it was her duty to warn her friend. “If you wanted to go to the beach, say, or see an old film, or do something dotty like ice-skating in Rockefeller Center, Jack would be the perfect partner. In all other respects his knuckles are still scraping along the ground.”
“But you like him,” Cat pointed out.
“I’m different. I’m immune.”
“I see. Well, stay with him if you want to, but be careful.”
“Of what, for heaven’s sake? We’re just friends.”
“Men are funny. They see you wandering around in a bath towel, or hanging out your underwear, and suddenly they want to pounce . It’s an instinct thing.”
“Pounce?” spluttered Freya. “Jack?” She pictured a blond gorilla in cut-off jeans and glasses, leering at her from the jungly undergrowth.
“You may laugh, but proximity is the first law of sexual attraction. Men are lazy: they grab what’s under their noses. That’s why they all run off with their secretaries. People think it’s because the secretaries are young and beautiful and subservient, but really it’s just because they’re there . If men could send out from their desks, they would.” Cat held an imaginary phone to her ear and lowered her voice an octave. “ ‘One woman, medium rare, sex on the side, hold the nagging.’ ”
“Stop!” Freya clutched her throat. “I nearly swallowed my litchi stone.”
Cat was checking her watch. “Sweetheart, I hate to say this, but I really must go.”
“I’ll walk you back. And I’m paying. No arguments.”
Outside, Freya hooked her arm into Cat’s as they set off down the street. The morning’s rain had cleared, leaving the air summery and fresh, a good ten degrees cooler than yesterday. Sunlight filtered through a silvery sky, bouncing rainbow reflections off the World Trade Center in the distance. People forgot that New York was a seaside city, with its own special quality of light. You sometimes got fantastic effects at dawn or sunset, when the sky turned lime green or shocking pink. It was good to appreciate such things, instead of always rushing, head down, like that boring herd of office workers in their boring suits and—
Freya gasped. “Quick!” she yanked Cat backwards and ducked into the shelter of the nearest building entrance.
“What’s going on?” Cat shook her off.
Freya peered out cautiously. “It’s him!” she whispered.
“Who?” Cat whispered back.
“Michael! You don’t think he followed me here, do you?”
“Which one?”
“Tan briefcase, blue shirt, crossing the road. Oh, my God, he’s looking this way!”
“Hmmm. Nice suit.”
“Bugger his suit. What’s he doing here?”
“He’s a lawyer. That’s the courthouse. And I’m Einstein.” Cat smirked.
Freya watched the dark figure retreating, one businessman in a shoal of look-alikes. Her hand was still pressed to her heart, but she was shocked to realize that, beyond a desire to remain invisible, she felt absolutely nothing. This was surreal. She’d lived with that man for five months. Three days ago she’d been thinking of marrying him. She remembered that a rejected lover had once told her that she had no
“The perfect evening.”
“I rest my case.” Cat looked smug. “Now listen, sweetie, I’m sorry I wasn’t home Friday, but you’re welcome to come and sleep on my couch for as long as you want. I’d adore it.”
“Thanks, Cat, but I might as well stay at Jack’s, now I’m there.”
“Is that the tall blond guy who was at the beach party last year?”
“If he was carrying a six-pack of nymphets, probably.”
“Mmm-mmm.” Cat smacked her lips in a vulgar Italian manner. “Maybe you should introduce me properly one day.”
Freya frowned. “You just said you were off men.”
“I said marriage was an untenable position for a feminist. I can always research my theory.” Cat’s eyes sparkled.
“Well . . . just so long as you understand that Jack is not marriage material.” Freya felt it was her duty to warn her friend. “If you wanted to go to the beach, say, or see an old film, or do something dotty like ice-skating in Rockefeller Center, Jack would be the perfect partner. In all other respects his knuckles are still scraping along the ground.”
“But you like him,” Cat pointed out.
“I’m different. I’m immune.”
“I see. Well, stay with him if you want to, but be careful.”
“Of what, for heaven’s sake? We’re just friends.”
“Men are funny. They see you wandering around in a bath towel, or hanging out your underwear, and suddenly they want to pounce . It’s an instinct thing.”
“Pounce?” spluttered Freya. “Jack?” She pictured a blond gorilla in cut-off jeans and glasses, leering at her from the jungly undergrowth.
“You may laugh, but proximity is the first law of sexual attraction. Men are lazy: they grab what’s under their noses. That’s why they all run off with their secretaries. People think it’s because the secretaries are young and beautiful and subservient, but really it’s just because they’re there . If men could send out from their desks, they would.” Cat held an imaginary phone to her ear and lowered her voice an octave. “ ‘One woman, medium rare, sex on the side, hold the nagging.’ ”
“Stop!” Freya clutched her throat. “I nearly swallowed my litchi stone.”
Cat was checking her watch. “Sweetheart, I hate to say this, but I really must go.”
“I’ll walk you back. And I’m paying. No arguments.”
Outside, Freya hooked her arm into Cat’s as they set off down the street. The morning’s rain had cleared, leaving the air summery and fresh, a good ten degrees cooler than yesterday. Sunlight filtered through a silvery sky, bouncing rainbow reflections off the World Trade Center in the distance. People forgot that New York was a seaside city, with its own special quality of light. You sometimes got fantastic effects at dawn or sunset, when the sky turned lime green or shocking pink. It was good to appreciate such things, instead of always rushing, head down, like that boring herd of office workers in their boring suits and—
Freya gasped. “Quick!” she yanked Cat backwards and ducked into the shelter of the nearest building entrance.
“What’s going on?” Cat shook her off.
Freya peered out cautiously. “It’s him!” she whispered.
“Who?” Cat whispered back.
“Michael! You don’t think he followed me here, do you?”
“Which one?”
“Tan briefcase, blue shirt, crossing the road. Oh, my God, he’s looking this way!”
“Hmmm. Nice suit.”
“Bugger his suit. What’s he doing here?”
“He’s a lawyer. That’s the courthouse. And I’m Einstein.” Cat smirked.
Freya watched the dark figure retreating, one businessman in a shoal of look-alikes. Her hand was still pressed to her heart, but she was shocked to realize that, beyond a desire to remain invisible, she felt absolutely nothing. This was surreal. She’d lived with that man for five months. Three days ago she’d been thinking of marrying him. She remembered that a rejected lover had once told her that she had no
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