“Charlie, please. He has some exotic male dancer in New Jersey that he won’t introduce to any of us. At least that’s what I hear.”

“Why not? This is New York.” Charlie felt easier talking about Jil than himself.

“Maybe this guy’s a stripper on cable TV.”

Charlie spit out his coffee. “What?”

“Who knows. That’s what Judy Tremont told me. She also said the poor fellow has AIDS.”

“Who, Jil?” Charlie was caught off guard.

“No, the dancer.”

“I don’t think you can believe Judy Tremont. She’d say anything just to get your attention.”

“She amuses me.”

“I hear she’s very palsy with Clarice Santorini.”

“Why do you say that?” Samantha put her coffee down.

“I think Clarice mentioned it.”

“Since when are you very palsy with Clarice Santorini?”

“We’re hardly what I’d call palsy. We have a professional relationship.”

“Oh come on, Charlie. Don’t pull this patient-doctor crap on me.” Samantha was getting even more irritated by his bringing up Clarice than she intended to. “You mentioned her deliberately.”

“No I didn’t. She’s a nice woman, but I don’t really know her.”

“She’s not such a nice woman. She’s got that nice-woman, I’m-such-a-good-mother bullshit thing down. She’s completely manipulative.”

“Samantha, I don’t want to talk about Clarice Santorini.”

“Why? Because she appeals to your fuckin’ sense of honor and sanctity?”

“You don’t even sound like yourself anymore. I have to say, Samantha, that man’s language doesn’t work coming out of you.”

“Charlie, did you ask me to breakfast to give me an elocution lesson?”

“No. I want to talk about us,” Charlie leaned in toward her.

“Charlie, there is no us,” she answered flatly.

“Honey, I understand.” Charlie cleared his throat. “Maybe you needed to shake things up. So now you’ve done it. You’ve changed our dynamic. Just come home.”

“Charlie, I’m not coming home.” She was furious at him for assuming it was all so easy to erase, as if nothing of consequence had happened.

Charlie took both of her hands. “Please, please, please, Samantha.” He started to cry. “This is a cold and very mean town. Just come home.”

Samantha stood up. “Charlie, don’t do this to yourself. Someday I’m sure we’ll be great friends. But right now, please don’t call me anymore.”

When she left the coffee shop she walked about five feet and into the Carolina Herrera showroom where she knew Charlie would never have the nerve to follow her. He had the butts of too many of her clients in his refrigerator.

“Hello, Mrs. Acton” the salesgirl chimed immediately.

“Miss Bagley,” Samantha corrected her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

·CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE·

Charlie