"Hook me up with the G.o.ddess and I'll pay you a million dollars."

Nancy's pulse raced. "Stay right here!" She crossed the room, her mind on fire. Be nice. Flatter her. Show her respect, build trust. And if that doesn't work . . . drug the b.i.t.c.h.

"Go on, Ma. Apologize to Nancy."

Carmella averted her gaze. "Sorry."

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Mrs. Cope. The mother-son bond is forever. I only hope you'll allow me to get to know you better so I can be a part of your life."

Carmella looked up, suspicious. "Who's the old fart you were talking to?"

"His name is Truman Cabot. His daughter owns the radio station where I work. It would mean the world to me if you'd allow me to introduce him to you."

"Not interested."

"Ma-"

"I'm already seeing two men."

"Nancy's not asking you to date him, just to say h.e.l.lo."

"Eh . . ."

"Please, Mrs. Cope."

"Fine. If it'll shut you up."

Nancy waved Mr. Cabot over.

"Jacob, help me sit up . . . I think I may have pulled something in my gynnie. Might have to see your brother; bet that would send him running back to brain surgery school."

"Truman Cabot, I'd like you to meet Carmella Cope."

Mr. Cabot offered her a denture-filled smile.

"What are you grinning at, you old fool?"

"You look just like my beloved Rachel, just before she died."

"And you look like an enema. Take off that ridiculous bathing cap, you're embarra.s.sing me."

He peeled the rubber cap from his silver-haired skull. "Go out with me and I'll buy you a Mercedes."

"I wouldn't be caught dead in a Kraut car. Besides, I'm already seeing Goldman and Schwartz."

"You're dating a law firm?"

"I'm a free-wheeler, Cabot. Only you're not my type."

"I'm every widow's type-an eighty-two year old with a three-hundred million dollar bank account, a bad heart, and a case of v.i.a.g.r.a."

Carmella reached for her pincer-cane, using it to part Truman Cabot's robe-revealing a sagging chest and a paunch belly that obscured a red Speedo bathing suit and whatever lay beneath. "Like I said, you're not my type."

Cabot panicked. "I was just in the pool. You have to allow for shrinkage."

"Looks like it's been shrink-wrapped. Now beat it, Richie Rich, before I use my gripper to check your prostate."

Dejected, Mr. Cabot glanced at Nancy and left.

DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE.

LESSON FIVE: DEALING WITH SEPARATION ANXIETY.

Spencer watched approvingly as Nancy walked Sam up and down the sidewalk using the long leash. "Very good. I think that's enough for today."

"Thank G.o.d. How about an iced tea?"

"That would be lovely. First, let's see if Sam remembers his new command."

Nancy detached the leash from the dog's choker collar. "Sam, house!"

The German Shepherd sprinted through the open backyard gate and entered his dog house.

Spencer followed Nancy into the enclosed yard, locking the gate behind him.

The moment they were inside the house, Sam went wild, sprinting around the yard before digging in the garden.

"Look at him, Spencer. He does this every time I leave for work. d.a.m.n you, dog! I just planted those Bromeliads!"

Spencer watched the German Shepherd tear apart the row of colorful red plants. "I'd say Sam has a bad case of separation anxiety."

"You're joking, right?"

"My dear, I never joke when it comes to the welfare of a canine. Separation anxiety is the second most common reason dogs are abandoned by their owners and eventually euthanized. Remember, dogs are pack animals; being left alone is against their nature. A dog suffering from anxiety will bark excessively, can become destructive, and, if given the opportunity, will defecate in the house. The animal may become so nervous that it will chew parts of their own body down to the bone. I knew of one dog that chewed on its tail so much the appendage had to be amputated."

Great . . . another roommate suffering from panic attacks. "Okay, Obi Wan, what am I supposed to do?"

"For now, I'd suggest walking Sam before you leave for work every day. Unfortunately, a dog of this size and intelligence will need something more stimulating to fill your void-at least until he accepts you as his pack leader. My wife and I had the same problem with Tilda when we adopted her."

"I bet your wife would have preferred a small white foofie dog."

"Actually, Kate liked the bigger breeds. When we first met, she had a one-hundred-and-seventy pound Newfoundland."

"I'd love to meet her-your wife, not the dog."

"Unfortunately, she pa.s.sed away a few years ago. Breast cancer."

"I'm so sorry. I lost my father to stomach cancer."

"It's a frightful disease."

"Do you have any children?"

"A daughter, she's about your age. Married an Aussie; now they live in Melbourne with my three-year-old grandson. I suppose I'm suffering from my own separation anxiety."

"Have you tried dating? My mother was against it at first, now she's on a senior single's cruise-at least she was. G.o.d knows where she is today."

"No actual dates, though I've attended a few social functions where I live. Sadly, the women tend to be either hounds or terriers."

"Where do you live? The American Kennel Club?"

Spencer smiled. "Sorry, old habit. I tend to segregate women into show categories. Terriers are your yappers, women who drone on endlessly. Hounds are the sniffers; always prying into your affairs, wanting to know everything from the place you were born to the last time you had a solid bowel movement. Essentially they want to know if you're suitable for marriage. Sporting breeds are your Boca b.i.t.c.hes-eye candy relegated to young men or the eccentric rich."

"I know I'll regret asking, but what am I?"

"Well, at first I a.s.sumed you were a Toy-either a Shih Tzu or miniature poodle, but as I've gotten to know you I see you more as a working b.i.t.c.h-someone who seeks her own independence. I think a Doberman Pinscher suits your style."

"Pretty profound. Just out of curiosity, what was your wife?"

"Kathy? Definitely a Herder, like your German Shepherd. Loyal to a fault, excellent with kids. But, as you can see, my herding days are over. Truth be told, it would be nice to find a sporting dog, certainly not an Irish Setter-G.o.d help me, perhaps a retriever or better yet, an English Springer Spaniel, something with a little fight in her."

"I know one! She's single and loves dogs. Her name's Anita. What if I set you up on a blind date?"

"I don't know. How physically impaired is she? Can she see shadows?"

"No, no, she's not blind. The date would be the first time the two of you would meet-we call that a blind date."

"Smashing. You set me up with my doggy date, and I'll bring over the equipment you'll need to help Sam with his separation anxiety."

DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE.

LESSON SIX: BREEDING RITUALS.

Nancy drove out of the gated community, Helen Cope in the pa.s.senger seat. "Cabot really offered you a million dollars if Carmella would date him?"

"Actually, he said 'hook-up.' I wasn't sure he meant a date or s.e.x."

"Either way, it's like paying someone to give you malaria. Does this guy even have that kind of money?"

"Enough to date a hundred Carmella Copes."

"And the old bat refused?"

"She took one look at the size of his Johnson and sent him on his way. Poor guy just got out of the pool. But you know what they say about first impressions. I asked Jacob to work on her, but he refused to question Mommie Dearest."

"What makes you think she'd listen to me?"

"You're her daughter-in-law, the mother of her three grandsons. All you have to do is help me convince Carmella to give Mr. Cabot a chance and we'll split the bounty."

"Let me tell you a little something about my relationship with Carmella Cope. The first time we met, she called me a wh.o.r.e. She finally stopped a year later when Vin asked me to marry him and he threatened not to invite her to the wedding. A year later I was at my baby shower, eight months pregnant with Wade when Carmella pulled me aside, drunk as a skunk and said, 'I know what you're up to, Helen of Troy. After it's born, I'm having the baby's blood tested just to prove to Vincent that it's not his kid."

"My G.o.d, she actually said that?"

"Nancy, I was so p.i.s.sed I refused to allow her to see Wade until he was ten months old. She's mellowed slightly over these last few years, I think it's because she's getting laid, or whatever it is these old people do in these senior cities of theirs."

"I guess that means you're out."

"For half-a-million bucks? Oh, I'm in. In a worst-case scenario, I can always use the money to hire someone to kill her."

IT WAS DUSK when Spencer Botchin a.s.saulted the two flights of concrete stairs to reach apartment 3-F, the bouquet of roses held firmly in his left hand. He took a moment to wipe perspiration from his brow, and then knocked on the door.

After a minute the door opened, revealing Anita Goodman. She was wearing a short black leather dress, her bulging cleavage held together between the plunging neck-line with a leather string. The matching leather boots rose clear up to her knees.

Spencer's eyes widened. "Major Botchin Spencer Sergeant . . . I mean, Spencer Botchin. I'll be your blind date for this evening."

"Anita Goodman."

"I'll do my best. I mean, happy to meet you." Spencer's mustache twitched as he imagined Anita in her bra and thronged panties on all fours while he inspected her body like a dog show judge . . .

"Are those flowers for me?"

"Flowers? Yes."

She took them and tossed them inside. "Okay, let's go."

"Perhaps you might want to put them in water?"

"Nah. I'm not big on flowers. I appreciate the effort you get one gold star. Next time try candy."

"Plain, or with peanuts?"

"Surprise me."

Spencer led her down the stairs and across the parking lot to his van. He held open the door, then hustled to the driver's side and climbed in.

Anita sniffed the air. "Smells like dog in here."

Spencer started the van. "Not just a dog, madam, but eighty-two pounds of sinew and muscle, possessing bloodlines that trace back to 18th century Europe."

"Very impressive."

"Indeed. So, I thought we'd start with dinner at Ruth-Chris Steakhouse, and then catch the 9:30 showing of Avengers-2."

"Let's do Thai. And I wanted to see Eternal Love; it's playing at the Regal."

"Thai food and a chick-flick? Not in this lifetime."