“Count me out,” Mutt said. “Darla’s waiting for me.”

“I can’t do dinner, but how about drinks at nine?” Johnny said.

“We can do that,” Tully said.

Kate knew she should say no. The last thing she wanted to do was sit at the table and watch Johnny watch Tully—but what choice did she have? She was the sidekick. Rhoda Morgenstern. And wherever Mary went, Rhoda had to follow, even if it hurt like hell.

Kate chose her clothes with care: a cap-sleeved white T-shirt, black vintage jacquard vest, and tight jeans tucked into scrunchy ankle boots. After curling her hair, she combed it carefully to one side and anchored it into a ponytail. She thought she looked pretty good until she went out into the living room and saw Tully standing there, dressed in a green jersey dress with a plunging neckline, padded shoulders, and a wide metallic belt, swaying to the music.

“Tully? You ready?”

Tully stopped dancing, flicked off the stereo, and linked arms with Kate. “Come on. We’re so outta here.”

Down on the street in front of their apartment, they found Johnny leaning against his black El Camino. In faded jeans and an old Aerosmith T-shirt, he looked totally sexy in a casual, rumpled kind of way.

“Where are we going?” Tully asked. She immediately linked her other arm with his.

“I’ve got a plan,” Johnny said.

“I love a man with a plan,” Tully said. “Don’t you, Kate?”

The word love paired with his name hit a little close to home, so she didn’t look at him when she said, “I do.”

Three abreast, they walked down the cobblestone street of the empty market.

At the neon-lit sex shop on the corner, Johnny guided them to turn right.

Kate frowned. There was an invisible line, like the equator, that ran down Pike Street. To the south, it got ugly fast. This was where the tourists didn’t go unless they were looking for drugs or hookers. The shops and businesses on both sides of the street were seedy-looking.

They walked past two adult bookstores and an X-rated theater where the Debbie Does Dallas sequel was playing on a double feature with Saturday Night Beaver.

“This is great,” Tully said. “Kate and I never go down here.”

Johnny came to a stop beside a ratty-looking wooden door that had obviously once been painted red. “Ready?” he said with a smile.

Tully nodded.

He opened the door. The music was earsplittingly loud.

A huge black man sat on a stool at the entrance. “ID, please,” he said, turning on a flashlight to study their driver’s licenses. “Go on.”

Tully and Kate showed their IDs, then moved on ahead, down the dark narrow hallway that was covered with flyers and posters and bumper stickers.