“She doesn’t need to know that.” Barry always avoided the question, and it usually went away in five minutes.

“But we are moving in together,” she repeated it.

“Of course we are. Can we go to bed? I’ve had an awful couple of days.” He began to walk toward the bedroom.

Samantha sat down. “Barry, I need to know we are moving forward.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He pushed over her coffee-table books. “Some fruit calls to say I had dinner with my wife, and suddenly you need to know every goddamn thing I’m doing. Give me a break.” He put on his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my hotel to get a night’s sleep.”

“Barry, try to think about it from my perspective.”

“You know what?” As he looked at her he thought she was truly beautiful and was behaving like a privileged cunt. “I don’t have the energy to think about your perspective right now. Right now I need to be a little selfish. And if you can’t deal with that, fuck you.” He could hardly breathe.

“Barry, where is this coming from?” Samantha followed him.

“I don’t owe you any explanations.” He walked out of her apartment and slammed the door.

Barry kissing Clarice on the cheek in front of Vico was on the cover of the New York Post the morning after their dinner.

“Aren’t we going to war with Iraq or something?” Barry asked Yvonne while he held the paper. “Who the hell cares about me and Clarice?”

“Oh, she called here when you were downstairs at the screening,” his assistant said efficiently. “She said she thought about your offer, and her answer is that it would be impossible.”

“Get her on the phone for me,” Barry screamed.

“Clarice told me if you have anything to say to her you can do it through me. Also, Dr. Vartan’s office called and they’re setting you up for tests.” Yvonne made no vocal differentiation between his ex-wife and the doctor.

“Get me a pizza!” Barry yelled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

·CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN·

Judy

Judy’s arms were driving her crazy. But the couture Chanel she had bought in Paris for the Museum of Modern Art spring gala was cutting her in a way that made her arms look thin but not sculpted. Judy did not want this kind of anxiety on the day of her potentially greatest triumph. Although she’d had Botox six weeks ago and a facial peel two weeks ago, just knowing the imperfection of her arms could make her entire face look puffy and not relaxed.