"Bon. There's someone I want you to meet. And I know he would love to meet you. Wel , actual y you've met, but not formal y. This man is not the least bit interested in a romantic relationship. Trust me."

Over the past two years I'd met many of Isabel e's friends, most of whom were involved in the arts. Some were boring, others captivating. Many were gay. Al were unique in one way or another. She was right. A night of frivolity would do me good.

"O.K. What can I bring?"

"Nothing. Just wear your pumps and be here at seven.

After unturbaning and combing my hair, I placed a seafood dinner in the microwave. I was programming the time when my doorbel sounded.

Ryan, I hoped suddenly, walking to the hal . It was al a mistake. But if it wasn't, did I real y want to see him? Did I want to know where he'd been, what he'd say?

Yes. Desperately

The self-examination proved unnecessary since the security monitor showed Jean Bertrand, not his partner, standing in the outer vestibule. I buzzed him into the building, then went to the bedroom for socks and a robe. When he stepped inside the condo, he hesitated, as if trying to compose himself.

After an awkward moment he extended his hand. It felt cold when I shook it.

"Hel o, Tempe. Sorry to surprise you like this."

Apparently surprising me was a hot thing these days. I nodded.

His face was drawn, and a dark crescent underscored each eye. Normal y an impeccable dresser, he wore faded jeans tonight and a rumpled suede jacket. He started to speak again but I cut him off with a suggestion we move to the living room. He chose the sofa, and I curled into the chair opposite.

Bertrand studied me, his face tense with emotions I couldn't read. In the kitchen the microwave hummed warmth into my whitefish, carrots, and curried rice.

This is your party I thought, refusing to break the silence. Final y

"About Ryan."

"Yes."

"I got your cal s, but I just couldn't talk about it then."

"What exactly is 'it'?"

"He's out on bail, but he's been charged wi -- "

"I know the charges."

"Don't be angry at me. I had no idea where you stood in al this."

"For God's sake, Bertrand, how many years have you known me?"

"I knew Ryan a hel of a lot longer!" he snapped. "Evidently I'm a lousy judge of character."

"Neither of us seems to excel in that area."

I hated myself for being so cold, but Bertrand's failure to cal had hurt. When I had needed information important to me he'd blown me off like I was a drunk on the street with his hand out.

"Look, I don't know what to tel you. This thing's wrapped tighter than a deb with new tits. I hear that when they're finished with Ryan he won't qualify for a paper route.