Barry began walking down Madison Avenue. As he passed his daughter’s school, Barry thought that he wasn’t afraid of dying. He just had no desire to spend any time in hospitals or at the mercy of insufferable nurses and big-shot doctors like Victor Vartan. If he was sick, he’d get Clarice to set up a room for him at their apartment, and Yvonne and his daughters and even in time beautiful Samantha would be there for him. He was not going to be another body on a bed. Clarice was good at mothering, and he’d let her do that for him. If Samantha was the love of his life, she’d understand and go with the flow.

Jil called Samantha to say he saw Barry out with Clarice before Barry got to her apartment that night.

“She was looking very Jackie O,” Jil said. “Very Upper East Side old guard, the red and green holiday Hermès scarf, the Chanel boots, le tout ensemble.”

“Did it seem like they were having a good time?” Samantha asked.

“Girls like that never have a good time. They’re too busy being martyrs in cashmere. But I have to say they did seem fairly chummy.”

“What do you mean chummy?” Samantha couldn’t help probing.

“Darlin’, isn’t this a little high school? I mean, ho-hum. On the other hand, I’d kill for a piece of Grey Navez’s chocolate candy. Do you think it’s too late for me to go work at Morgan Stanley?”

“Jil, how chummy?” Samantha was adamant.

“I’m sorry I told you.”

“Well you did, so now it’s too late.”

“Grey says they were holding hands but I didn’t see it.” Jil truly wished he had never mentioned it.

“Thanks, Jil. You’re a pal.” She had had enough.

“Maybe they were discussing his divorce.”

“Good night, Jil.”

Samantha poured herself a vodka and sat on a couch watching the Food Network until the doorman said Barry was on his way up.

“Hi. I couldn’t reach you all day.” Samantha kissed him.

“Long day. Fuckin’ agents had me on the phone till ten.”

“Poor darling.” She kissed him again. “Want a drink?” She began to get up.

“No, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

She put her arm around him. “I’m sorry it’s been so rough.”

“You have no idea, babe.” He began to kiss her neck.

“Maybe I do. Jil called to say he saw you having dinner with Clarice.”

“The fuckin’ art dealer?” He was definitely not in the mood for recriminations.

“He’s one of my best friends.”

“Well he’s a gossip and a drama queen. I took the mother of my children to dinner. Big fuckin’ deal.” Barry poured himself a diet Dr Pepper.

“Barry, have you told her we’re moving in together?” Samantha asked him for what Barry thought must have been the thirtieth time.