The DeadHouse

gonna be the last time you'll ever get laid.'

'How was I supposed to know I'd be interrupting a domestic vignette in your dark little lair if you never talk about your social life these days? I'm trying to apologize to you, if you let me get a word in. And to, to…? Does she have a name, Detective?'

Mike concentrated on the slippery road surface as he steered the car onto the FDR Drive.

'Maybe I'll just refer to your guest as 'her.' That okay with you?' I barreled off a list of questions about the nameless figure in the bed. 'Did I spoil your evening with her? Are you going to tell me how you met her? Have you given any thought to when you're going to bring her out of the closet and let your friends-'

'Valerie.'

'That wasn't too tough, was it? Valerie. Nice name. Okay, tell me about Valerie, Mr. Chapman. Am I moving too fast for you? I'm trying to start with the easy things.'

'She's an architect. Only woman partner in a pretty sizable firm. Does design work for large urban projects, everything from creating new sites adjacent to Battery Park City to planning the Miami Heat sports complex.'

I guess the answer surprised me. I paused long enough between questions for Mike to sense my reaction.

'You were expecting a barmaid? Or maybe a peanut vendor from Yankee Stadium?'

I blushed as I protested, 'I, uh, I wasn't expecting anything in particular.' I had seen Mike through a number of casual relationships over the years, usually with women who had a lifestyle as uprooted as his-journalists, flight attendants, actresses-and rarely grounded at a serious stage in their professions.

'Thirty-two years old. Went to UCLA, majored in medieval history. She can sit up all night talking to me about the rule of Saint Benedict and reciting lines from Havelock the Dane. Don't imagine it would turn you on, blondie, but it works like magic on me.'

'She sounds-'

'Got so hooked on Gothic architecture-flying buttresses and Rayonnant design-he went on for her graduate degree at Stanford. Don't even toy with me on the subject, kid. I'll be murder on those Jeopardy! questions now.'

'I'd love to-'

'Don't be patronizing with me. She's every bit as intelligent as your frigging pals.'

'What are you getting so damn defensive about? I'm trying to tell you that I'd like to get to know her, to spend time with her.'

'Jacobsen.'

I slapped my hand on the dashboard. 'That's what you're being so weird about.' I laughed. 'She's Jewish, too?'

'Like you're the only one I'm supposed to find interesting?'

'Like I'm delighted that you stepped out of your narrow-minded little world and-'

'You're only barking at me like this because you are jealous. I was right last night. You can't get beyond having me at your disposal, twenty-four-seven, then jerking me around when you set off on a jaunt with one of your fancy beaux.'

'I can't believe that's the way you would characterize our friendship. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for you, and I know you've demonstrated that over and over again for me. Why wouldn't I want you to be happy?'

There was not a single reason for Mike to be sniping at me. I leaned back in the seat and pushed myself again to explore my feelings about our relationship. There was no question that I had never expected him to be seriously involved with someone who was not Catholic, and I had often wondered, despite his obvious intelligence, whether he was threatened by women of substantial professional accomplishment. Maybe we had both struggled against our mutual attraction from time to time. I hated the idea that I might be envious of his lover.

I shook off my concern and smiled over at Mike, hoping to soothe him with an effort at a joke. 'What you don't realize is how flattering I find this whole thing.'

'Right.'

'Accomplished, interesting, smart, Jewish. Pat McKinney might even think I'm the one who opened your eyes to a different kind of woman.'

Instead of responding with a clever dig, Mike snarled, 'Val's nothing like you.'

'Don't be such a Grinch. You know I'm just kidding about-'

'She's not lucky, Coop. You're the luckiest girl I know, and Val is way overdue for a heavy dose of the good fortune you've been dealt.' I had not seen Mike this intense since Mercer's shooting. There was no relieving his edge.

I didn't know in which direction to move the conversation. Every angle I started with met a dead end. I stared out the window as the wipers swished the soft flakes from side to side and waited for Mike to take this where he wanted.

We were in the underpass beneath the United Nations Building now, stuck in the middle lane behind three cars that had piled up in a fender bender. When Mike spoke, I couldn't see his face because of the darkness in the short tunnel.

'I guess Sloan-Kettering isn't the best place in the world to pick up a girl.'

The superb cancer facility occupied a city block on York Avenue, midway between Mike's apartment and my own. Many of my friends had been treated and saved by the phenomenal medical staff that served its patient population. I looked at the shadow of Mike's profile while he talked to me.

'After Mercer was hit, I made it a point to donate blood, to replace all the pints that had been used in his surgery. All the guys did it. I decided to go to Sloan-Kettering. Just seemed like the best place to give. First time I was there, in the blood center, I saw her. She was resting on one of the recliners, like she was at the beach. Had a bright blue silk scarf tied around her head, knotted at the nape of her neck, with a big smile on her face while she chatted with the nurse. Just the most luminous skin I'd ever seen.

'We only talked for about fifteen minutes that day. She had to give some of her own blood to be tested for a kind of experimental treatment. She was finishing her juice, getting ready to leave, and they were prepping me to start. Long enough for me to find out what her name was and where she worked.'

Mike maneuvered out from behind the stuck cars and into the right-hand lane, crawling back out onto the wet highway. 'She wouldn't see me for more than a month. I hadn't realized that there was no hair under her scarf, and she was afraid to tell me. Afraid I wouldn't want to take the next step.'

I thought back to my glimpse of the woman in Mike's bed. I had only seen the slender outline of her body beneath the sheet, and the short-cropped brunette hair against the pillow. 'What kind of cancer does she have?'

'I'm using the past tense. Had. Val had breast cancer. A very aggressive kind, no family history. They did a mastectomy last year and some radical chemotherapy. She's healthy now.'

He paused and looked away from me, out toward the river. 'I'm betting on her, Coop.'

'Of course you should be. You've got a whole built-in cheering section, for chrissakes. Why wouldn't you think Mercer and Vickee and Jake and I can't be part of this?'

He didn't answer me aloud but nodded his head in assent. Perhaps it had more to do with Mike exposing his own vulnerability to us than keeping Val away from his friends.

'How about next weekend, Jake and I can do a dinner party?'

Mike took his eyes off the road, looked over at me, and chuckled.

'See, I knew I could make you smile. Jake can cook, I'll do the dishes.'

'You'll like her. You two can go on and on about Chaucer and Malory and the Cursor Mundi-all that Middle English literature you guys thrive on.' The familiar grin was gone now. 'She just gets tired easily. We'll make the first one an early night, if you don't mind.'

I cursed myself for my glibness about Mike's mysterious woman. I knew and appreciated the blessings of good health and good genes. Last night, while Val was cradled safely in the arms of the man who adored her, I was tramping around the darkened streets of Manhattan in a petulant tantrum, thinking I could enlist Mike's aid like Guinevere summoning her knights. Why wasn't I content to stay at home and talk things through with Jake?

Mike let me out in front of the courthouse and I stopped to b_uy coffee for both of us before going upstairs to my office. There _was a voice mail from Laura telling me that she wouldn't be in