I grabbed the pantyhose and stuffed it back in my attaché case, turning instantly from mute to motormouth. “Oh, gee, this is so awkward. It’s all Prozac’s fault—”

“Prozac? Are you on medication?”

“No, Prozac’s my cat. And she’s mad at me because I came home with chimichanga on my breath and I put her on a diet and expected her to eat Healthy Haddock Entrails but I broke down and fed her Bumble Bee but then this morning I made her go back on the diet and—”

I was babbling like an idiot, and I couldn’t stop myself. Oh, well. What did it matter? That forty thou was long gone. I’d kissed the job good-bye the minute Andrew Ferguson locked eyeballs with my cotton crotch.

The rest of the meeting floated by in a mortified blur. I saw Andrew’s lips moving but I barely heard a word he said. Something about calling me if they were interested. (Yeah, right.) Finally, he shook my hand good-bye and I stumbled out past Queen Elizabeth and down the elevator to the parking lot.

I drove home burning with shame. As much as I tried, I couldn’t erase the image of Andrew smiling that crooked smile of his and asking me if I had anything in fishnet.

When I got home, I found Prozac lolling on the sofa, not a care in the world.

“You little ratfink!” I said, waving the pantyhose in her face. “I suppose you thought this was funny, huh?”

Mildly amusing.

She began licking her genitals, obviously quite proud of herself.

“Well, maybe you think it’s funny, but I don’t. I’ll have you know I’m furious. Absolutely furious. Really, Pro. I mean it. I’m pissed.”

I stalked off to the kitchen and began tossing her diet cat food into the trash.

“You want to be fat? Be fat! See if I care! Have a pizza. Some ice cream. Maybe a hot fudge sundae.”

She stood at the kitchen door, wide-eyed, as I hurled cans of cat food across the room.

It’s funny about Prozac. She knows when she’s crossed the line. Whenever she sees I’m truly angry, she turns into the cuddly, loveable kitty of my dreams, leaping onto my lap, nuzzling her little pink nose under my chin, purring in contentment at the very sound of my voice.

All of which she proceeded to do. Suddenly she was Miss Congeniality. But I was having none of it. I was cool. I was aloof. I was unforgiving. No matter how wide her eyes got, no matter how much she purred, I remained indifferent to her charms.

I was merciless, all right.

In fact, that night when she jumped into bed with me and got on her back for a belly rub, I made her wait a whole thirty seconds before I gave her one.

Chapter 6