“What’d you say?” I ask, in indignation.
“I said, ‘Never. Because I don’t consider my work a job. I consider it a career. And you don’t quit a career.’ That shut her up for a minute. Then she asked where I went to college.”
“And?”
Samantha straightens. “I lied. Said I went to a little school in Boston.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
“What difference does it make? I’m not going to risk losing Charlie because some uptight society matron doesn’t approve of where I went to school. I’ve gotten this far, and I don’t plan to go back.”
“Of course not,” I say, touching her shoulder. I pause. “Maybe I should go. Before anyone else wanders in.”
She nods. “That’s a good idea.”
“The soufflés are in the oven. All you have to do is take them out in twenty minutes, turn them over onto a plate, and put a scoop of ice cream on top.”
She looks at me gratefully, and envelops me in a hug. “Thanks, Sparrow. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”
She takes a step back and smoothes her hair. “Oh, and Sparrow?” she adds carefully. “Would you mind going out the service entrance?”
Chapter Eighteen
Where is everybody? I think in annoyance as I bang down the phone for the millionth time.
When I got home last night, I kept wondering about Samantha and Charlie. Was that the way to a happy relationship? Turning yourself into what the man wanted?
On the other hand, it seemed to be working. For Samantha, anyway. And in comparison, my own relationship with Bernard was sorely lacking. Not only in sex, but in the simple fact that I still wasn’t sure I was ever going to see him again. I guess the best thing about living with a guy is that you know you’re going to see him again. I mean, he has to come home at some point, right?
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of Bernard. And it’s all Maggie’s fault. If she hadn’t been so rude, if she hadn’t insisted on tracking down Ryan and seducing him . . . And she’s still with Ryan, having a mini affair, while I’ve got nothing. I’ve become a handmaiden to other people’s relationships. Aiding and abetting. And now I’m all alone.
Thank God for Miranda. I’ll always have her. Miranda will never have a relationship. So where the hell is she?
I pick up the phone and try her again. No answer. Strange, as it’s raining, which means she can’t be marching around in front of Saks. I try Bernard again too. No answer there eit
her. Feeling thoroughly pissed off, I call Ryan. Jeez. Even he’s not picking up. Figures. He and Maggie are probably holed up having sex for the twentieth time.
I give up. I stare at the rain. Drip, drip, drip. It’s depressing.
At last the buzzer goes off. Two short toots, followed by a long one, like someone’s leaning on the button. Maggie. Great friend she is. She came to New York to see me, but spent all her time with stupid old Ryan. I go out into the hallway and lean over the stairs, prepared to give her a piece of my mind.
Instead I see the top of Miranda’s head. The rain has flattened her bright red hair into a neat cap.
“Hey,” I exclaim.
“It’s pissing out there. Thought I’d stop off here till it lets up.”
“C’mon in.” I hand her a towel and she rubs her hair, the damp strands standing up from her head like the crest on a rooster. Unlike me, she appears to be full of good cheer. She goes into the kitchen, opens the refrigerator, and peers in. “Got anything to eat in this place?”
“Cheese.”
“Yum. I’m starving.” She grabs a small knife and attacks the brick of cheddar. “Hey. Have you noticed how you haven’t heard from me for two days?”
Actually, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy with Maggie and Samantha and Bernard. “Yeah,” I say. “Where were you?”
“Guess.” She grins.
“You went to a rally? In Washington?”