"Long story. Anyway, I've been following this and the pieces just don't fit. DC claims that JJ Money called him up and challenged him. Told him to meet him in the VIP room of some nightclub to settle some old scores, right?"

"Well I..."

"DC goes and he's ready for action. He's got a switchblade and a gun, tells a whole bunch of people that he's going to set JJ Money straight." I sat up a little straighter as I narrated. "He goes to the club and waits. JJ Money's a no-show, so DC gets antsy and decides to go outside to see if he can find him. Again he tells some of his friends what he's up to."

"I really-"

"Next thing you know, DC's in some nearby alley standing over JJ Money's body. JJ Money's been shot with a gun left at the crime scene, only its not DC Smooth's gun but JJ Money's own gun. I don't care how high DC might have been, nobody's stupid enough to tell the world that he's going to go fu- Mess with someone and then shoot that same someone and then hang around long enough to tell the cops that he didn't do it." I hit my spoon against the table for emphasis. "And why shoot him with JJ's own gun? It just doesn't make sense."

"Sophie?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't care."

I pressed my lips into a tight little smile. I had forgotten who I was talking to. One should never interrupt Leah when she is talking about herself. It just isn't done.

Jack was now carefully pouring milk over the food that surrounded his high chair.

"Jack, stop. Did you hear me? Mommy said no. Oh for God's sake, where is the waiter with our check? Do you see what I go through?"

I spent the rest of the time at Chevy's helping Leah do damage control after Hurricane Jack, furiously waving down our waiter and listening to Leah tell me how put-upon she was and how I should marry and have kids so we could be put-upon together. The ax murderer was in for a letdown. If the lunch didn't end soon I was going to kill myself.

CHAPTER 8.

"As if her own neuroses didn't complicate her life enough, now she had to deal with everyone else's."

-Sex, Drugs and Murder Eventually Leah did drive me home. I jumped out of the car and watched her drive off. One of us had to have been adopted.

I went up to my apartment and let my hand rest on the brass doorknob. I stood there for a full two minutes. I wanted to smack myself for being such a wimp. This was my home. Some idiot rearranged my bookshelf and now I was afraid to go inside? Where was the Sophie that had nonchalantly walked through the slums of the city by herself at night while doing research for her novels? Where was the woman who had won a tug-of-war with a street punk who had tried to steal her purse?

I drew in a deep breath and opened the door. I laced my keys through my fingers in the way Dena had taught me. If I had to punch someone they would be seriously cut. I stepped into the entryway and was greeted by what seemed to be a calm and collected Mr. Katz.

"No visits from deranged fans this afternoon?" Mr. Katz purred expectantly. "Okay, I'll pay attention to you in a second, just let me do a quick walk-through."

I checked every room and narrow closet, keys in hand, and scrutinized every shelf dresser and countertop to see if anything was displaced. When I was sure that everything was in order, I lowered myself onto the sofa and allowed Mr. Katz to knead away at my black chinos. I stroked his fur and tried to formulate a plan of attack, but none was forthcoming. I needed help with this. I let my hand rest on the phone although I didn't have the slightest idea who it was that I was going to call. Fortunately I didn't have to figure it out because someone called me first. My fingers tightened around the receiver. I no longer feared that it would be a prank call. I just desperately hoped that whoever was on the line could offer me some viable solutions. I brought it to my ear.

"Please tell me this is my guardian angel."

"Why do you need a guardian angel?"

"Anatoly." I let my body relax against the leather cushions.

"Right on the first guess, I'm flattered. Why do you need a guardian angel?"

"It's nothing, and even if I was serious, I wouldn't ask you to fill that role. You wouldn't make a good angel. Dark angel maybe. What's up?"

"I was just calling to find out when I was going to see you again. Are you busy tonight?"

"Only if we make plans." Anatoly was an infinitely better escape mechanism than my sister and her Tasmanian Devil.

"Good answer. How about a late movie with a few drinks afterward?"

"Funny, you don't strike me as the movie type." I balanced the receiver between my ear and shoulder as I tried to remove Mr. Katz's claws from my thigh. "Do you have a particular film in mind?"

"They're playing Suspicion at The Roxie."

"Hitchcock?" I dropped Mr. Katz on the floor and jumped to my feet. "You like Hitchcock?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Are you kidding? I think I want to bear your children!"

There was a silence on the line.

"Anatoly, that was a joke."

"I realize that. I've just never elicited such a strong response by simply picking the right movie."

"I'm easy."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm, just ask my nephew."

Another silence.

"Um, that was an inside joke that didn't carry over too well, you see...you know what? Never mind. When are you picking me up?"

I could make out Anatoly's muffled laughter. "The movie starts at nine-forty, so why don't I come and pick you up at a quarter after?"

"I'll be here with bells on."

"She's easy and she wears bells. What more could a man want from a woman?"

"Goodbye, Anatoly."

I hung up and turned to Mr. Katz. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how badly do you think I came across in that conversation?"

Mr. Katz blinked his eyes.

"Good idea. If I were you I wouldn't answer either."

I spent the rest of the day and early evening hours trying to fix my kitchen window. In the end, I wound up leaving a lengthy message on my landlord's voice mail asking that he send someone out to take care of it immediately, knowing full well that in landlord-speak "immediately" often translated into three or four days.

Anatoly showed up at nine-fifteen on the button. I pulled out a hair and placed it in the crack of space above the dead bolt. It was hard to see, but if anyone came in, the hair would fall, hopefully without their noticing, and I would know there had been an intruder. Of course, they could just take the easy way and go in the partially open window by the fire escape, but I preferred to think that my stalker liked to be challenged.

I met Anatoly at the door and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss. "So I guess all that military service taught you something about punctuality."

"Or perhaps I was just eager to be in your company," he countered as he handed me a helmet.

I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Or perhaps you're well practiced in the art of bullshit."

Anatoly laughed. "It's actually a course you have to take before becoming licensed as a contractor, B.S. with Style."

"Great," I yelled as Anatoly started the ignition. "I'll try to remember not to trust you."

"And you'll forgive me if I don't remind you of that." The conversation ended at this point as we roared toward the theater.

When we got there we made the requisite purchase at the concession stand before going to find our seats. Anatoly tried to steer me to two empty spots at the end of a row but I pushed him farther towards the center.

"Normally I prefer aisle seats just in case I have to make a quick trip to the ladies' room midfilm," I said. "But this is Hitchcock, so I'll hold it."

Anatoly placed the soda in the cup holder farthest from me before taking off his jacket. "Have you seen this before?"

"I think I've seen everything Hitchcock's made. This is the one where Joan Fontaine marries Cary Grant only to find out after the fact that she can't trust him. I know something about that from my last marriage. A case of life imitating art."

Anatoly was quiet for a moment. "If I remember correctly, Cary Grant turns out to be a good guy in the end. So in this case the fiction seems to be preferable to the reality. Unless, of course, you're in my position. I'd much rather date a divorced woman than one who is still married."

"Well, aren't we Mr. Morality?"

"Why, are you unconcerned with the marital status of your dates?"

"No, no, I steer clear of the men with gold bands around their ring fingers. It's not that I don't empathize with women who are unwittingly married to lecherous bastards, but I'm not particularly interested in donating my time, effort and body in order to open their eyes to the truth." I popped an overly saturated popcorn kernel in my mouth. "Do you know that they actually changed the ending of this movie because the studio didn't want Cary Grant playing a bad guy? The way it was originally written he ended up killing her. It would have been better that way. I always like it when the leading man turns out to be the villain. No one ever expects it."

Anatoly gave me one of his disarming half smiles. "You do have a dark side, don't you."

I didn't have time to respond. Like Leah I have a few rules of my own, and one of them is never to talk over a Hitchcock film.

When the movie was over we walked over to the 500 Club, a neighborhood bar a block away from the theater. Well, Anatoly walked; I floated. So far the evening had been as close to perfect as it could get. I had a gorgeous guy on my arm, Hitchcock on the big screen, a big tub of greasy popcorn and now an alcoholic beverage. We seated ourselves at an intimate little table and I enjoyed a particularly strong martini while checking out my surroundings. Our fellow patrons ranged from those who were trying too hard, to others who weren't trying at all. The result was an appealing atmosphere that felt open and accepting. It occurred to me that for the last few hours I hadn't thought about Sex, Drugs and Murder or my psychotic fan. I was actually relaxed. Well, somewhat relaxed; every ten minutes or so Anatoly would cast me a look that caused my pulse to race up to a speed that could break the sound barrier, but other than that I was perfectly calm. And his taste in movies... God, maybe the man had relationship potential after all. I could feel him staring at me again. No doubt about it, I wanted him. But Leah was probably right; I should hold out for one more date. I met his gaze and then quickly hunched my shoulders in an attempt to hide the state of my nipples. The guy hadn't even touched me yet-how could I be reacting this way? I decided to take a stab at casual conversation.

"Nobody does suspense like Hitchcock." My pitch was a note too high to be perceived as casual. I took a steadying breath and tried again. "I swear I will spend my entire career aspiring to his creative genius."

Anatoly smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He reached forward and rested his hand on top of mine. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Really?" I lowered my voice to a husky whisper. "What does it for you? The wrinkled khakis or the helmet hair?"

"The whole package," Anatoly said before pulling me in for a kiss.

I have always believed that you can judge a man's skills as a lover by the way he kisses. If that was true, Anatoly was a sex god. It couldn't have been more than sixty degrees in that bar and I still felt the need to remove my jacket as well as a few other choice pieces of clothing. Leah could afford her rules-she was married. Last time I had sex, Jack hadn't even been conceived yet.

Anatoly released me. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm ready to head out."

"Are you sure?" The goading tone in which he asked the question was unmistakable. "I wouldn't want to rush you."

"Anatoly, do me a favor. Stop being such a smug bastard and let's get out of here before you start pissing me off."

"Got it." He left a few bills on the bar and escorted me out.

On the ride home I rested against Anatoly's back and visualized how the rest of the evening was going to play out. Anatoly would bring me to my building. I would ask him up for a nightcap. A nightcap...was that too cliche? But then again, who the hell cared if it was cliche or not? The point was, I would get him to come up to my apartment and, in so doing, I would be killing two birds with one stone. I would have a man who was trained in the art of combat accompany me inside and with any luck I would finally get laid. Hell, maybe I'd even get him to fix my window for me.

I was so absorbed in my planning that I didn't notice when Anatoly passed my turn. When he did stop the bike, it was in front of his place. He paused for me to dismount before parking.

I pulled off my helmet. "What are we doing here?"

Anatoly took off his helmet as well. "We're going up to my place."

"Really? I don't remember you asking me."

"I didn't have to ask. It's obvious that you wanted to."

I felt my anticipation transform into acute annoyance. "Uh-huh. And this is the world according to Anatoly?" Really, this was a little egotistical even for him.

"I just call them as I see them."

I smiled and placed a gentle hand against his cheek. "Great. Then you can tell me what you call it when you see me walking away." I tossed the helmet at him and started toward my building.

I could hear him calling after me but I had no intention of turning around. Of all the nerve. I jammed my hands in my pockets to better protect them from the sting of the damp cold. Yeah, I had wanted to sleep with him and maybe that had been obvious from the way I'd responded to his advances, but there was a certain etiquette that needed to be observed. Maybe things weren't as black-and-white as Leah liked to paint them, but at least he should have had the courtesy to ask me what I wanted before just bringing me to his place with the expectation of getting screwed. What a schmuck. And I didn't sleep with schmucks any more than I slept with Neanderthals.

The empty streets just fueled my aggravation. If I could just forcefully push by some pedestrians or scream at a honking car I might be able to release some of my mounting frustration. But no, all my Russian Hill neighbors had to be responsible and retire early on Sunday nights, leaving me with nothing to scream at but the stars, and I couldn't even do that thanks to all the fricking fog. I finished the three-block trek downhill and turned the corner onto my street. I squeaked in surprise upon finding myself face-to-chest with Andy.

"Andy." I faltered and checked my watch. "It's 1:00 a.m. What are you doing here? Wait, don't tell me-you're bringing more groceries to Mrs. Murphy."

Andy didn't smile. "I was waiting for you."

"At 1:00 a.m.?" What the hell was going on? My previous vexation was forgotten as hundreds of little alarm bells started going off in my head. But this was Andy. The guy I had once seen crying over a dead pigeon. He wasn't any threat.

"I came after work. I wanted to give you a flower." I looked down at his clenched hand and saw what at one time must have been a daisy. All the petals had been pulled off and the center had been crushed.

I tried to laugh. "So I guess you changed your mind?" I took a step back as he moved forward.

"I saw you get on his motorcycle. He's your boyfriend."

"No, Andy, he's not, he's just a-"

"You're a liar. You kissed him! I saw! I saw! You lied to me!"

This was not okay. I glanced up at the dark windows of the apartment buildings around me. Was he shouting loud enough to wake anybody? Should I scream? But even if I did, how helpful would that be in a city full of people who had become accustomed to hearing the loud ravings of drunks and derelicts? No, it had always been my experience that keeping cool was the best way to handle volatile people. If I could remain calm I could probably calm him down too. After all, this was Andy.