I made my exit, exhausted by the entire encounter. In spite of myself, I liked the guy. He was a bit of a blowhard, but he had a sweetness about him. I wondered if Stella had any idea what she was up against. Ari wasn’t complicated. He was still in love with his wife.

While I’d continued to decline his offer of paid work, I did consider his proposal for thirty seconds on my way home. I had said no in part because sometime soon I’d need to have a talk with Christian Satterfield and I didn’t want to do so with Ari’s employment offer hanging over my head. One thing I’ve learned about money: the guy who pays has the power. Saying no kept our relationship equitable and on an even keel.

34

On my way to Taryn’s office, I stopped off at a delicatessen, where I bought one tuna salad sandwich on rye and one egg salad on whole wheat, plus Fritos and the Pepperidge Farm Milanos on which my mental health is so often dependent. I hadn’t mentioned dinner in our phone conversation, but I was hungry and I took a chance she’d be hungry as well. If she already had dinner plans, I’d take the leftovers home with me. I parked in the lot behind her building. I’d barely settled on the love seat when she came out to the waiting room.

“Your timing’s great. Turns out my last client canceled, so I managed to get caught up. Come on in.”

She wore tight jeans with a pair of spike heels and a dark red blazer that was open as far as the first button, her cleavage modestly veiled by a lacy white camisole. She wore the same big hoop earrings and the messy hairdo that somehow looked chic. Her lipstick was bright red and looked like it wouldn’t come off on the lip of her coffee cup the first time she took a sip. I report this in detail because she’s the sort of woman I want to be when I grow up. No chance of it at this late date, but all the same . . .

I held up the paper bag. “Dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Perfect. I should have thought of it myself.”

I unloaded my purchases and arranged the deli items on the coffee table. We traded sandwiches so we each had half a tuna salad and half an egg salad. She kept cans of Diet Pepsi in a mini-fridge and she popped the tops on two. She kicked off her heels and propped her feet on the coffee table. She wore panty hose, and the nylon soles were pristine.

I sat on the floor with my back against one of her two upholstered chairs. We both salted the shit out of the egg salad and then munched happily, engaged in small talk. She finally crumpled the empty paper wrappers and made an accurate overhand shot to the wastebasket before she turned back to me.