Love the one youre with

sixteen

So? How do you feel?' Leo asks me, holding my gaze like a magnetic field.

His open-ended question makes me feel lightheaded, and I can't help wondering if he's being intentionally vague.

'About the shoot?' I say.

'Sure,' he says attentively. 'About the shoot. About anything.'

I look up at him, feeling tempted to confess that I'm positively exhilarated. That I've never had such a thrilling hour of work-and rarely felt the sort of pure chemical attraction that I am experiencing now. That I know I told him that I didn't want to be friends, but can't stand the thought of shutting down that possibility completely. That although I'm happily married, I feel a strange bond to him and don't want this to be it between us, forever.

But of course I say none of this, for more reasons than one. Instead, I give him a blase smile and say that I'm pretty sure I got some decent shots. 'So don't worry… my photos won't water down your interview too much.'

He laughs and says, 'Good. 'Cause I've been really concerned about that. Ever since I called your agent I've been thinking, 'Shit. She's gonna ruin my piece.' '

I smile, a little too flirtatiously, and he smiles back in the same vein. After a highly charged ten seconds pass, I ask if he got some good stuff.

Leo nods, patting the tape recorder in his back pocket. 'Yeah. I wasn't sure what to expect… I'd heard that he was a pretty nice guy-friendly, open, personable… but you just don't know what mood you'll walk into… I guess you know how that is, right?'

I nod. 'Resistant subjects are never a good time… although surly and moody can sometimes photograph better than you'd think.'

Leo takes one step toward me. 'I guess it's all about chemistry,' he says suggestively.

'Yeah,' I say feeling a ridiculous smile spread across my face. 'Chemistry is important.'

Another bloated moment passes before Leo asks, so casually and breezily that it becomes pointed, what I'm doing later. It is a question I've considered a dozen times today, wishing that we had one more night at the Beverly Wilshire, while simultaneously feeling relieved that I have an e-ticket to save me from myself.

'I'm headed back to New York,' I say.

'Oh,' he says as something around his eyes falls just a bit. 'What time's your flight?'

'I'm on the nine-thirty red-eye,' I say.

'Oh. That's too bad,' he says, glancing at his watch.

I make a noncommittal sound, calculating the time I have left in L.A. Searching for a plausible way to spend some of it with Leo, rather than my sister, who is still making herself scarce at the counter.

'So I can't convince you to stick around for another night?' Leo says.

I hesitate, casting about for a solution. A way to stay in town while keeping things above board. But then I conjure Andy's smile, his dimples, his clear blue eyes, and have no choice but to say, 'No… I really need to get back.'

There simply is no way to tread these dangerous waters.

'I understand,' Leo says quickly, seeming to read between the lines. He glances down to adjust the strap on his kelly green messenger bag-a brighter color than I'd expect of Leo-as I find myself wondering whether it was a gift; how beautiful the woman who gave it to him is; whether they're still together.

He looks up and winks playfully. 'That's cool,' he says. 'We'll just hang out the next time we're in L.A. doing a feature on Drake.'

'Right,' I say, struggling to outdo his sarcasm with a bold line of my own. 'We'll hang out the next time you dump me, then run into me years later, then reel me back in with an assignment of a lifetime…'

Leo looks startled. 'What are you talking about?'

'Which part is unclear?' I say, smiling to soften my somewhat confrontational question.

'I didn't dump you,' he says.

I roll my eyes, then laugh. 'Right.'

He looks hurt-or at least taken aback. 'It wasn't like that.'

I study his face, surmising that he must be trying to spare my pride by pretending that ours was a mutual split. But there is no trace of strategy, no trace of anything other than genuine surprise at my 'version' of our history.

'What was it like then?' I ask him.

'We just… I don't know… I know I was an ass-and took myself too seriously… I remember New Year's Eve… but I can't really remember why we broke up… It almost seems that we broke up over nothing really.'

'Over nothing?' I say, feeling something close to desperation as Suzanne suddenly rounds the corner.

She must catch my expression, because she says, 'Oh, sorry,' and halts abruptly.

I force a smile and say, 'No. You're fine. We were just chatting… about… Drake.'

Suzanne gives me a look like she doesn't believe me, but plays along. 'What did you guys think of him? Was he as down-to-earth as he seems?'

'Definitely,' Leo says. 'Very real.'

'Very,' I echo brightly as my insides churn.

'What was the best part of the interview?' Suzanne asks Leo. 'Or do I have to wait to buy the magazine?'

Leo pretends to consider this, but then says he trusts her and will give her the inside scoop, launching into some specifics about Drake's work on third-world debt relief and all his criticisms of our current administration, none of which I can focus on. Instead, I fight the wistful welling in my chest, and decide to rip off the Band-Aid during the next lull in conversation.

When it finally comes, I say as decisively as possible, 'Well. We better get going.'

Leo nods, his expression becoming familiarly impassive. 'Right,' he says.

'So thanks again for everything,' I say.

'Thank you,' he says, withdrawing further. 'I can't wait to see your photos.'

'And I can't wait to read your piece. I know it's going to be great,' I say, feeling all the exhilaration from a few minutes before drain from my body. Highs and lows, I think. It always was about highs and lows with Leo.

Suzanne pretends to study a framed playbill hanging on the wall beyond us, as if to give us one last sliver of privacy while Leo nods another thank-you. For a moment, it seems as if he might give me a final hug, albeit a formal one. But he doesn't. He just tells us to have a good trip.

But all I hear is, Have a good life.

Once back in a cab, en route to the hotel, Suzanne's eyebrows knit into an empathetic frown. 'You look sad,' she says softly. 'Are you sad?'

I can't muster the energy to lie so I nod and tell her yes-although in truth, downright disconsolate is closer to the mark.

'I don't know why,' I say. 'It's all just… so weird… Seeing him again…'

Suzanne takes my hand and says, 'That's normal.'

'Is it, though?' I say. 'Because it doesn't feel very normal. And I certainly don't think Andy would call this normal.'

Suzanne looks out her window as she poses the ultimate question. 'Do you still have feelings for him, or do you think it's just nostalgia?'

'I think it's a bit more than nostalgia,' I admit.

Suzanne says, 'I figured as much,' and then, almost as an afterthought, adds, 'But if it helps, I totally get what you see in him. Dark, sexy, smart…'

A wry laugh escapes my lips. 'That actually doesn't help. At all,' I say. 'Thanks anyway.'