bladders,
Amanda did wonder whether Darcy would ever really commit to the job. The girl meant well, but for some reason her ability to recall thousands of shades of lip gloss and memorize every designer from Betsey Johnson to Umbro outweighed her ability to retain legal aid information by a multiple of, oh, about a trillion. The children they worked with needed passionate advocates.
'Daniel didn't have life insurance,' Amanda continued, not letting an ounce of condescension drip into her voice.
While Darcy would never win employee-of-the-month- or day, or even minute-in addition to being a colleague, she'd been a better friend than most people Amanda had ever known.
Last year, when Henry ended their relationship, when
Amanda had no place to sleep, Darcy opened up her home and her sofa bed without thinking twice. Darcy's husband, Nick, moaned for a millisecond, but apparently
Darcy gave him a look that first night and Nick never peeped again. Amanda knew Nick brought home a salary closer to seven figures than six, so Darcy didn't need nonprofit work, or any kind of work for that matter. Nick didn't get home most nights until midnight, if not later, so if her generosity was for companionship Amanda didn't know, but she was thankful for it, nonetheless.
Which meant forgiving occasional, scratch that, regular lapses in judgment.
'You know, you should have come out last night,'
Darcy said. 'They gave out gift bags at the end. Each one had a tube of La Mer. I swear it's like rubbing liquid silk on your skin. And Nick's friend Spencer, remember the one I told you about? He was there, and honey, that boy can wear a Brooks Brothers.'
'I'm sorry, Darce, I was tired. I'll be there next time.'
'Wow,' Darcy said sardonically. 'If there ever is a next time, you'll have to clone yourself, like, fifty times to make up for all your excuses.'
Amanda turned to her, said, 'I'm sorry, it's just…it's not me. I don't get all giggly for that kind of stuff. If I'm going to meet someone, it'll happen the way it's meant to happen. Like…'
'Like a fugitive asking for a ride out of the state.'
She smiled. 'Yeah. Something like that.'
'Well, fine. I'll tell Nick to tell Spencer to find another playmate. But, Amanda?'
'Yeah?'
'Next time you might want to come just for the moisturizer. Your dry-as-dust forehead will thank you.'
Amanda shut her gaping mouth, then play-slapped
Darcy. She never wanted to be rude, and surely appreciated the effort, but she wasn't a socialite, the kind of woman who spent more time getting dressed than she did sleeping.
And that's what she missed most about Henry. Those nights where it was just the two of them, cuddled in sweats and T-shirts, relaxing on his couch, watching a funny movie, talking, making love, then falling asleep. Bodies intertwined as though there was no world other than theirs.
And for a while, there wasn't. Then the world decided to have some fun at their expense, and dispatched a killer into their midst. And while they survived, their relationship died horribly. And now Amanda's nights were spent full of sorrow for her loss, guilt for imposing on Darcy, and desire to just move on and forget everything.
'Hey, Amanda, you see this?' Levi Gold, one of the
NYLAS's partners, came into their office waving a copy of that morning's New York Gazette. He laid it on the table in front of Amanda and Darcy, then underlined the headline with his finger.
'I Just Want To Be a Kid'
Long thought dead, Daniel Linwood grasps for the life nearly taken from him by Henry Parker
'That's our guy, Daniel Linwood,' Levi said. Levi was a short man, yet always walked with his shoulders rolled back as though it might add an extra few inches. His balding pate was neatly combed over, his gold wedding ring always buffed to a polish. As he leaned in close,
Amanda could smell a whiff of Hugo Boss. And though she'd never tell him, she'd once spied him inserting lifts into his loafers.
'Whaddaya think, we're handling this city's top legal aid case. Pretty sweet, huh? If my bonus doesn't hit four figures this year, I'll be seriously pissed.'
Darcy was out of her seat ready to give Levi a hug, but
Amanda couldn't stop staring at the byline. She hadn't spoken to him in months. Hadn't read the Gazette since they broke up. Suddenly Amanda grabbed the paper, opened it to Henry's article and began reading.
When Darcy saw the story's continuation, saw the
Gazette 's emblem atop the margin, noticed the byline, it dawned on her.
'Oh, babe,' she said. 'You don't need to read this.'
'I want to.'
'Really, Manda…' She moved to take the paper.
'If you touch it you'll be wearing your wedding band on a stump.'
Darcy withdrew, protectively holding her hand.
Amanda read the whole story in silence. When she was finished, she closed the paper and handed it back to Levi.
'Sorry for hoarding your paper.'
'Don't worry about it. Least some of the newsprint rubbed off on you instead of me.' Levi smiled and walked out.
'Does it still hurt?' Darcy asked. Amanda could tell along with the sympathy there was a note of curiosity in
Darcy's voice. She'd never been hurt like that, never had to see an ex-lover's name in front of her. She was the kind of girl men fawned over, men who would never hurt her, because her beauty was what they craved, and they knew she could walk away in an instant. If she left, another man just like them would be waiting around the corner to scoop her up. Amanda never had that luxury. She'd always told herself once she found the right man, she would never let him go. She never wondered what it would be like if he left her. Never wondered if he was simply carrying on his life while she cried herself to sleep.
'It hurts,' Amanda said. Then she turned to Darcy.
'Hurts more today than usual.'
'Come on,' she said, standing up. 'Lychee martinis at lunch today. On me. And afterward we'll work on bringing young Mr. Linwood back to life.'
For once, Amanda was more than happy to indulg Darcy.
I arrived at my desk to find Jack O'Donnell waiting for me.
Sitting in my chair, in fact. He was wearing a brown suitcoat and gray slacks with several patches sewn in. In fact, during the few years I'd gotten to know him, Jack had shown as much taste for fashion as your average wino. Pants are pants, he told me one night over a beer. Just because they rip doesn't mean they stop being comfortable. You have any idea how much money I've saved over the years by giving my money to tailors instead of garment salesmen?
The look on his face read 'mildly perturbed.' His posture said, 'I'm sitting in your chair. So what?'
Big red veins tubed down the sides of his nose. His eyes were mildly bloodshot, and it was clear though I'd declined his drinking invitation last night, he'd hit the town with his more reliable friend Jack Daniel's, maybe met up with their buddy Jim Beam and set sail on a voyage with Captain Morgan as well.
Jack was holding a copy of that morning's edition of the Gazette, the front page held up and turned my way so
I could see it. He slapped it with his hand and said,
'Knocked it out of the park, Henry. Of course you know
I plan to take full credit for this. I've already told the whole newsroom you couldn't find an acorn in a squirrel's paw without my help.'
'And just when people were starting to respect me,' I said. 'You think this will convince Rourke to hold off making another shit bag?'
Last year, the Gazette 's sports editor, a rough-andtumble jackass named Frank Rourke, decided it would be
