"So maybe I should just pick her up in the morning? I don't want to disturb her. You don't know how hard it is to put her back to bed."

I just stood there wondering for a moment if she was serious. Was this how she manipulated her mother? No wonder Leslie was fed up with her all the time.

"And I sort of made plans to meet some friends for drinks. What do you think?"

"I think you go and get your daughter, take her home, put her to bed, and act like a mother should. If it's hard to get her back to sleep, that's your problem. If you'd been on time, you could've put her to bed at her normal time. In her own house."

"Wow, Daddy, you're really pissed, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. You took advantage of me, now you want to take advantage of me some more, and I don't like it. Now, move yourself before I really lose my temper."

"Oh, come on, Daddy. I said I was sorry."

"Sorry? Really? Maybe this kind of behavior is why your mother's in Charleston! Did you ever think about that?"

"Blame me? You want to blame me?"

Charlotte flounced out of the room and came back inside of a minute with a sleeping Holly thrown over her shoulder, headed for the front door.

"Daddy," she said, "you want to know why Momma's in Charleston? Look in the mirror."

She slammed the door and was gone. Boy, she had some lousy temper.

The phone rang. I picked it up and knew from the familiar crackle that it was Bertie calling from Kathmandu.

"Bertie? Is that you?"

"Hi, Dad! What's happening?"

"Don't tell me you're calling for money! Not tonight! I can't take it!"

"Actually, I have some good news."

"I'm all ears," I said and sighed.

"I sold three images to National Geographic. They're going to be in a special issue on Bhutan and Tibet."

"Well, that's good news, son! How much does it pay?"

"Well, only six hundred dollars and I don't get paid for thirty days. So do you think you could help me out just one more time?"

"NO!" I slammed the phone down as hard as I could.

I was going to the club. I was going straight to the bar. I was going to have a double vodka martini straight up, dirty not filthy, with two olives. I couldn't get there fast enough.

In the car on the way there, I thought about Charlotte and Bertie. No wonder Leslie was always on edge. Our kids were a damn disgrace. But singing along with Dean Martin cheered me up.

There was no valet that night, so I parked and went inside to the crowded bar. Harold and Cornelia waved me over. Lisette was sitting at the long teak bar with Paolo, but she was wearing sunglasses and a hat. Very odd, I thought. It was dark outside.

"Hey! We've been waiting so long we were giving up hope!" Harold said.

I ordered my drink, gave Harold a slap on the shoulder, and smooched Cornelia on her cheek. "How are you, gorgeous?" I said to her. "Sorry, guys, my daughter was late and then my son called." The bartender handed me my martini and I said, "Cheers!"

"Drink up!" Harold said. "We're way ahead of you."

"What's the news with Bertie?" Paolo said.

"Well, he's actually sold some of his work," I said. He was wrong to keep asking for money, but it probably wasn't nice for me to slam the phone on his ear. Oh, so what?

"That's wonderful!"

"Yeah," I said, "thanks! So Lisette? What's going on, darlin'? Setting a new fashion trend or something?"

She took off her hat and sunglasses. There was no hair where her bangs should've been, and she'd obviously been on a crying jag.

Paolo leaned into me and whispered. "My girls? Well, they aren't so sweet on my marriage as you know and they did something stupid . . ."

"Stupid?" Lisette wailed. "Wes? They put Nair in my shampoo bottle! It's criminal! I just wanted to freshen up my bangs! Then the phone rang and I got hung up in a conversation for like fifteen minutes and then my hair came out in the sink! Thank God I didn't wash my whole head!" She started crying again.

Lisette was a card-carrying airhead, but she made Paolo happy.

"Oh, honey," I said and thought, Holy shit! Wasn't Nair that smelly stuff women used to get rid of hair? Yeah, and obviously it worked. "That's terrible! Why would they do such a thing?"

"Because they hate me!" She really began to blubber in earnest.

"Come on now, sweetheart," Paolo said and put his arm around her.

I reached for my handkerchief and realized I didn't have one to give her. Another thing Les always took care of for me. Thanks, Les! I can't play the gentleman because of you!

"Wait, wait! Y'all? There's more," Cornelia said in a drawn-out drawl, one that might come from Scarlett O'Hara herself. "They also cut the crotch out of all her panties. Nice, huh?"

"Good grief," I said and thought, Good God! That's disgusting! "Well, they can be replaced. It's only money."

Now, since when did I feel like that? It's only money? I'll tell you, since Leslie took off, I was seeing the world in a whole new light.

CHAPTER 11.

Leslie on a Slippery Slope One of the first things I did Saturday morning was to call Danette, not because there was so much to discuss. I guess I was just lonely for my old friend and wanted to hear her voice. Talking to her might add some note of normalcy to my day.

"Hey! You busy?"

"Hang on! Let me turn down the television. Now where'd I put that darn clicker? Oh! There it is sticking out from under the bag of celery. This kitchen looks like a bomb went off. I'm making chicken stock and veal stock. Been up for hours." I could hear her television blasting in the background of her kitchen and her cook's clogs thumping across the floor. The noise subsided and she resumed our conversation. "So what's going on? How's Jonathan? Hmmmm?"

"Well, I don't have to sew big red As on all my clothes, if that's what you're asking. What're you watching? Barefoot Contessa?"

"Of course I am. And of course that's what I'm asking! What happened last night?"

"Ah me, last night, last night . . . It was all very nice, I'm sorry to say. First, we went to a very swank rooftop bar on East Bay Street to have a glass of wine."

"Which one? I'm trying to visualize this. I don't have all day here."

Danette had obviously swallowed more coffee that morning than I had.

"The one that's above a steak house called Grill 225, which by the way, is mind-blowingly good. Anyway, we ordered some wine and talked about the state of the world, you know, reminiscing about the old days. It was great. And I got my cast off."

"Good about the cast, but cut to the chase, please."

"Well, we watched the sun go down and the lights of the city come up. It was very beautiful."

"Ahem!"

"What?"

"And then what? Do I have to drag it out of you?"

"You know, hon, you might need a caffeine intervention?"

"Sorry. It's just that I want to hear the story!"

"Well, we wound up going downstairs and having a steak and a nitrotini, which is a martini that's smoking because it's infused somehow with nitrogen? I should've taken a picture."

"Who cares about that? Please! And then?"

"And then he walked me home." I giggled.

"And then?"

"And then we said good night, but along the way he said some really sweet things to me."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know. But one thing stood out. He said something like being with me made him feel so young again. I felt the same way. Energized, you know? I mean, probably just because we were talking about being teenagers and all that stuff. But when I looked in his eyes? I swear to you, Danette, there was the same eighteen-year-old boy I used to love hiding behind all those little crinkles. He was right there."

"That's pretty sweet, Les. And there you were all worried that he'd treat you like an old bag."

"Yeah. I know. Stupid, right? Well, anyway, like you, I haven't been out with another man since the Russians launched Sputnik. In fact, I've never even looked at another man since my wedding day, except for George Clooney. He doesn't count."

"No, he doesn't count."

"Listen, Jonathan makes me very nervous. It's weird, you know?"

"Of course, I know! So did you feel like a wicked little slut? Ha-ha!"

"Only for about two seconds. It was practically totally harmless." I laughed too. "No, it wasn't. It wasn't even close to harmless. But it wasn't exactly dangerous, either. Does that make sense?"

"Yes. It's called the mating dance."

"Jesus God, Danette. And I mean that as a prayer. Mating dance?"

"Yeah. You know, he struts a little, watches your reaction, and retreats a bit until he thinks you're ready? Then he zeros in!"

"Gross!"

"Pounce!"

"Stop!"

"Whatever! So let me ask you something. Did you kiss him?"

"God! Danette! No! Decaf!" I gasped, feigning offense. "Okay, but just a sort of drive-by kiss."

"What the heck is that?"

"Like I kiss my granddaughter. You know, a smooch."

"How dull. Okay, but could you see yourself with him?"

"Dan, I can't see myself with anyone. How's that?"

"Know what? Me either. I mean me, not you. I can't see myself with anyone either. I've got this smoking-hot landscape architect from down the street supervising his crew as they're digging up my backyard. He's giving me the eye and I'm giving him the eye, but when it's cocktail time, I pretend I've got to rush out the door to meet somebody else."

"Wait? Is he asking you to have drinks and you're saying no?"

"Yeah, sort of. It's just too awkward. I don't know. I'm just not ready or something."

"Why not? What's one drink? At least that's what I told myself when I wound up spending the entire evening with Jonathan."

"Right? Well, he's a bit younger."

"How much?"

"I don't know. I think a lot-maybe ten years? Maybe more?"

I giggled. "And your problem is?"

"I know. You're right. I'm like you. But the whole business of having sex with someone new gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Who said anything about sex? Sex? What's that?"

"Exactly. My magic garden has dried up from drought."