God. You really are a sparrow. When you have an apartment like mine, rent-controlled and only two hundred and twenty-five dollars a month, you don’t ever give it up.”
“Why not?”
“Because real estate is impossible in this town. And I might need it back someday. If things don’t work out with Charlie. I’m not saying they won’t, but you never know with men in New York. They’re spoiled. They’re like kids in a candy store. If you have a good deal—well, naturally, you want to hang on to it.”
“Like Charlie?” I ask, wondering if he’s a good deal as well.
She smiles. “You catch on quick, Sparrow. As a matter of fact, Charlie is a good deal. Even if he is a baseball freak. He wanted to be a player himself, but of course, his father wouldn’t let him.”
I nod encouragingly. Samantha seems to be in a mood to talk, and I’m like a sponge, ready to absorb anything she says. “His father?”
“Alan Tier.”
When I look at her blankly, she adds, “The Tiers? The mega real estate family?” She shakes her head as if I’m hopeless. “Charlie is the oldest son. His father expects him to take over the business.”
“I see.”
“And it’s about time. You know how it is with men,” she says, as if I, too, am some kind of guy expert. “If a man doesn’t ask you to marry him—or at least live with him— after two years, he never will. It means he’s only interested in having a good time.” She folds her arms and puts her feet on the desk. “I’m as interested in having a good time as any man, but the difference between me and Charlie is that my clock is ticking. And his isn’t.”
Clocks? Ticking? I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I keep mum, nodding my head as if I understand.
“He may not have a timetable, but I do.” She holds up her hand and ticks off the moments on her fingers. “Married by twenty-five. Corner office by thirty. And somewhere in there—children. So when that bachelor story came out, I decided it was time to do something about Charlie. Speed things along.”
She pushes aside some papers on her desk to retrieve a battered copy of New York Magazine.
“Here.” She holds it out. The headline reads, NEW YORK’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS, above a photograph of several men standing on bleachers like a sports team in a high school yearbook. “That’s Charlie,” she says, pointing to a man whose face is partially hidden by a baseball cap. “I told him not to wear that stupid cap, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Do people still care about this stuff?” I ask. “I mean, aren’t debutantes and eligible bachelors sort of over?”
Samantha laughs. “You really are a rube, kiddo. If only it didn’t matter. But it does.”
“All right—”
“So I broke up with him.”
I smile knowingly. “But if you wanted to be with him—”
“It’s all about getting the guy to realize he wants to be with you.” She swings her feet off the desk and comes around to the side. I sit up, aware that I’m about to receive a valuable lesson in man management.
“When it comes to men,” she begins, “it’s all about their egos. So when I broke up with Charlie, he was furious. Couldn’t believe I’d leave him. Giving him no choice but to come crawling after me. Naturally, I resisted. ‘Charlie,’ I said. ‘You know how crazy I am about you, but if I don’t respect myself, who will? If you really care about me—I mean me as a person and not just as a lover—then you’re going to have to prove it. You’re going to have to make a commitment.’”
“And did he?” I ask, on the edge of my seat.
“Well, obviously,” she says, waving her ringed finger. “And it didn’t hurt that the Yankees are on strike.”
“The Yankees?”
“Like I said, he’s obsessed. You don’t know how many baseball games I’ve had to sit through in the last two years. I’m more of a football girl, but I kept telling myself that someday, it’d be worth it. And it was. With no baseball, Charlie didn’t have anything to distract him. And voilà,” she says, indicating her hand.
I take the opportunity to mention Bernard. “Did you know Bernard Singer was married?”
“Of course. He was married to Margie Shephard. The actress. Why? Did you see him?”
“Last night,” I say, blushing.
“And?”
“We kissed.”
“That’s it?” She sounds disappointed.
I squirm in my chair. “I only just met him.”
“Bernard’s a bit of a mess right now. Which is not surprising. Margie walked all over him. Cheated on him with one of the actors in his play.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, aghast.
Samantha shrugs. “It was in all the papers so it’s hardly a secret. Not very nice for Bernard, but I always say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Besides, New York is a small town. Smaller than small, if you really think about it.”
I nod carefully. Our interview seems to be over. “I wanted to return the twenty dollars you gave me,” I say quickly, digging around in my pocket. I pull out a twenty-dollar bill and hand it to her.
She takes the bill and smiles. And then she laughs. I suddenly wish I could laugh like that—knowing and tinkling at the same time.
“I’m surprised,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, or my twenty dollars, ever again.”
“And I wanted to thank you. For lending me the money. And for taking me to the party. And for introducing me to Bernard. If there’s anything I can do—”
“Not a thing,” she says, rising to her feet.
She walks me to the door and holds out her hand. “Good luck. And if you need to borrow another twenty sometime—well, you know where to find me.”
“Are you sure nobody called?” I ask L’il for the twentieth time.
“I’ve been here since two. The phone didn’t ring once.”
“He might have called. While you were visiting your mother’s friend. In the hospital.”
“Peggy was home then,” L’il points out. “But maybe he did call and Peggy didn’t tell me. On purpose.”
L’il gives her hair a firm brush. “Why would Peggy do that?”
“Because she hates me?” I ask, rubbing my lips with gloss.
“You only saw him last night,” L’il says. “Guys never call the next day. They like to keep you guessing.”
“I don’t like to be kept guessing. And he said he would call—” I break off as the phone rings. “It’s him!” I yelp. “Can you get it?”
“Why?” L’il grumbles.
“Because I don’t want to seem too eager. I don’t want him to think I’ve been sitting by the phone all day.”
“Even though you have?” But she picks up the phone anyway. I wait in anticipation as she nods and holds out the receiver. “It’s your father.”
Of course. His timing couldn’t be worse. I called him yesterday and left a message with Missy, but he didn’t call back. What if Bernard tries to call while I’m talking to my father and it’s busy? “Hi, Dad,” I sigh.
“Hi, Dad? Is that how you greet your father? Whom you haven’t called once since