Steve wrote "Replengren" on his pad followed by three question marks. "Something Kranchick doesn't want anybody to know about, and that's gotta be good. You're beautiful, Cadillac. I love you. You, too, Marvin."

"Forget us," Cadillac said. "Did you tell the lady that you love her?"

"He told her," Marvin said. "She didn't say nothing back, and now the schlemiel wants some advice from the Maven."

"Thanks for being so discreet," Steve said, rubbing both temples. A headache was brewing.

"So what did you tell him?" Cadillac asked Marvin.

"I told him to get off his tuches. Love don't come along every day, and if you let her get away, you'll always regret it."

Thirty-nine.

SIX-LOVE.

The woman is perfected, Victoria brooded.

Which meant what? Made perfect from something less so?

She herself was neither perfect nor perfected. She was, on this Sunday morning, a miserable, lying, self-loathing s.l.u.t.

She lay in bed trying sort out her feelings. Bruce's bed. With Bruce snoring contentedly beside her.

The avocado crop was saved and Bruce, drained from the night's excitement and a pitcher of rum-and-c.o.ke at dawn, had tumbled face-first into bed, still wearing his jumpsuit and combat boots. The holster and pistol, thankfully, were draped over the railing of a treadmill in the corner of the bedroom.

She woke up angry. At herself.

What have I done?

She had violated her most cherished principles. Honesty, loyalty, fidelity. But why? Did she love Steve Solomon? No, that would be preposterous.

Half the time I can't even stand him.

No way did their relationship fit her well-conceived definition of love. No way was it a rational, synergistic coupling of two people with mutual interests and similar values. This coupling was animalistic, like Judge Gridley's beagles in the barn.

It was irrational. Illogical. Insane.

So why did she do something so hurtful and self-destructive? Bruce deserved better. And Solomon? The poor guy had resisted. For a moment, she wondered if she was guilty of date rape, at least in some philosophical way.

When she left Steve in the chickee hut, she'd felt a mixture of guilt and apprehension. She feared Bruce would see it on her face. But he'd been oblivious, rambling on about the low clouds holding in the heat and the snow being a blessing in disguise. Then he grinned and said: "A blessing in the skies." Okay, so he was a little impaired in the humor department. Could she spend an eternity with a man who couldn't make her laugh?

She slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and left.

The morning was clear and chilly, the sun still low in the east, as she aimed the Taurus north. She would call Jackie on the cell, roust her from bed. But before she could dial the number, her cell phone rang, and she checked the readout. Solomon. What was there to say? She let it ring.

Traffic was light on South Dixie, and when she reached LeJeune Road in the Gables, she hung a right, even though that wasn't the way to Grove Isle. Why had she turned there? Did the car have a mind of its own? Then a left on k.u.mquat. She slowed as she approached the bungalow with the Brazilian pepper tree and Spanish dagger shrub.

What am I doing? What stable, mature decision is this?

Running from your fiance's house to your lover's.

Is that what Solomon is? My lover?

She had never liked the word. It always sounded sleazy.

She stopped the car across the street from Solomon's house. His old Cadillac was parked out front, top up. Another car, too. A Lincoln with a personalized plate: MAVEN-1. Then she remembered: Marvin was a Sunday morning regular for breakfast. As she sat there, a second car pulled up, an old Chevrolet sedan. She watched as Cadillac Johnson got out. He was wearing blue coveralls instead of his usual dashiki.

She thought about walking in, calling out: "What's cooking?"

But it would be awkward. She mustn't talk to Solomon until she decided just what the h.e.l.l she was going to do with her life. And where he fit in. Which he didn't.

She put the car in gear and drove away.

Jackie hit a lazy lob that lacked height, distance, and desire. Victoria, who had been camped at the net, took two steps backward, aimed her left hand skyward as if pointing at a shooting star, then brought the racquet forward in a vicious overhead smash. The ball rocketed toward Jackie, who hopped sideways and yelped as she took a stinging hit on her calf.

"Ow! Jeez."

"Sorry." Victoria walked back to the baseline. They were on a green clay court at Grove Isle. Just on the other side of the windscreened fence, boats were tied up at the dock and the bay rippled with whitecaps. "That's six-love. One more set. Your serve."

"Forget it." Jackie was rubbing her calf. "It says 'Wilson' on my leg. What are you mad at me about?"

"Nothing." It wasn't something you just blurted out: "By the way, Jackie, I never told you before, but I'm really a lascivious s.l.u.t."

"So what's going on? You've been taking out your frustrations on that fuzzy ball since we started playing." She walked to the sideline table, grabbed a fleece pullover, and slipped into it.

Victoria joined her, opened a thermos of coffee, poured for both of them. "I'm just a little tense, that's all."

"Pre-wedding jitters."

"That's exactly what Solomon said."

"When's he going to call me, anyway?"

"He's kind of unpredictable, so I wouldn't be sitting by the phone."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were seeing that Bad Boy on the side."

Victoria was silent.

"Usually, this is where you say, 'Jac-kie,' the way Sister Agnes did when I wore stretch pants in seventh grade."

Victoria sipped her coffee.

Jackie studied her. "Fu-ck me! You and the Bad Boy?"

Victoria remained silent.

"C'mon, Vic. What's the use of getting boned if you can't tell your best bud?"

"Last night-" Victoria began, with some trepidation.

"I knew it! I knew the day you met him."

"How? I despised Solomon."

"Exactly. He got you so worked up, I knew something was going to happen." Jackie lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "How was it?"

"You mean physically?"

"What other way is there?"

"Jac-kie."

"C'mon, tell me, Vic. Did you pop more than once? Did he? Tell me, and I'll tell you about this Honduran coffee baron who can lick his own eyebrows."

Victoria had vowed not to go into detail. She wouldn't describe how Steve pressed all the right b.u.t.tons, including the b.u.t.ton that mattered.

"I'll bet it was great," Jackie said, pumping her.

I won't get down and dirty.

"Was it great?" Jackie said.

I'll keep the discussion on a high plane.

"Between Bruce and Steve, who's the better c.l.i.t tickler? C'mon, I need play-by-play."

"It was un-f.u.c.king-believable," Victoria said, surprising herself with her language. "I was on fire. Burning with fever."

Jackie made a show of fanning herself with an open hand. "Oh, my G.o.d."

"When he was inside me, it was like he was touching me everywhere. Like an electrical current. And so intense. One volt more, I swear, I would have pa.s.sed out."

Jackie made a grunting sound that was close to being obscene.

Victoria lowered her voice. "With my eyes closed, I actually saw sparks."

"No."

"Like a meteor shower."

"I think I'm getting wet."

Victoria took another sip of coffee. "Now I need to figure out why I did it."

"What's to figure? You were h.o.r.n.y. Solomon's hot. You got laid."

"It's more complicated than that!"

"Then figure it out the next time he boinks you."

"What next time?"

"C'mon, you gonna give up the greatest s.e.x of your life?"

Victoria felt lost. She yearned for advice, but her best friend was off in s.e.xual fantasyland.

"I'm going home and checking the batteries in Mr. Happy," Jackie said.

Maybe she should call The Queen for advice, Victoria thought. Catch up with her in Switzerland or Rome, or wherever. The Queen had more experience with men. On second thought, Victoria knew exactly what her mother would say. "I've been unhappy rich and unhappy poor," The Queen would say. "Unhappy rich is better."

"Maybe I'm afraid of happiness. Maybe I'm trying to sabotage my relationship with Bruce."

"What's the problem? Marry Bruce. Boff Solomon on the side."

"I can't do that!"

"Then do what you lawyers do. Grab a yellow pad. Write down the pluses and minuses of each guy." Jackie handed her a flyer for the Grove Isle Christmas party, turning it over to the blank side. "Start with Bruce. Write down a personality trait you really like, then compare him with Solomon on the same characteristic."

"Does this come from Cosmo or did you make it up?" Victoria said, grabbing a pen from her purse and starting to write.

Jackie peered over Victoria's shoulder at the list. "No contest. The Bad Boy wins."

"C'mon, Jackie. This is serious."

"Okay, then give Solomon a chance. He's gotta have at least one quality you like."

"He has wonderful parenting skills. You can see that with Bobby. Plus . . ."

"Hang on a sec," Jackie said. "Aren't you beating around the bush? No pun intended."

"You mean s.e.x."

"Ye-ah. What about Bruce, other than the fact he's hung like a Clydesdale?"

"He's good. But maybe a trifle mechanical . . ."

"Mechanical is fine for a dishwasher, but from what you said about the Bad Boy . . ."

"Solomon makes me laugh and he makes me lunch. . . ."

"And he makes you come. Combo platter. Excellent. C'mon. If you had to make a decision, which by the way you do, who's it gonna be?"