"My God, Peggy! Did you have to tell him that pack of lies?" she whispered.
"Certainly I did. It accomplished two things. First, my story eliminated any suspicion that we're lesbians. People who practice alternate life-styles aren't popular in places like—"
"Why would he think that?" Karen exclaimed.
"Two women enjoying one another's company are automatically suspect," Peggy said cynically. "Especially in blue-collar bars; especially when one of them is a tough-looking old broad and the other is young and pretty. Second, I had to think of an excuse for requesting a table next to the window and sitting here half the afternoon. There's nothing like a cheating husband to arouse chivalrous sympathy. Try to remember to call me Mom."
"I don't think I can do it," Karen gasped. "Peggy, this isn't going to work! I'm not even wearing a wedding ring!"
"Hell," said Peggy. "I forgot. Here." She slipped a ring from her finger and passed it to Karen under the table. It was a tight fit, but Karen managed to force it on. She turned it so that the glittering stones were hidden and only the plain gold shank showed. The central stone was very green and rather large. An emerald? If so, it suggested more affluence than she had suspected Peggy possessed. Which reminded her . . .
"I appreciate your offer of financial assistance, Peggy, but I can't accept it."
"We'll discuss that after Simon has settled on a price." Peggy took a long swallow of beer. "He's divine, Karen. I absolutely adore him. Fortunately he's too old for you."
"Peggy, you ..." Karen shook her head. "I never knew you were like this."
"Neither did I. What a vast wasteland my life has been! I've had more fun in the last two hours than in the past ten years. Hey, look! Someone's going in the shop."
Karen pulled back the curtain and looked out. "It's nobody I know. Probably a regular customer."
Visibly disappointed, Peggy settled back. "You might not recognize all the potential buyers."
"I know most of the people who'd be interested. There are only two or three who really worry me."
Their hamburgers, complete with potato chips and a slice of limp pickle, had been delivered before the first of the two or three appeared.
"That's her!" Karen exclaimed, squeezing her greasy sandwich till mustard oozed out the sides. "Angelo."
"Really?" They bumped heads trying to look out. Peggy said incredulously, "That's a woman?"
The question was understandable. The figure approaching the bookstore was almost six feet tall and proportionately broad. Dark pants and flat shoes added to the androgynous look, and its head was hidden under a large black umbrella.
"That's her," Karen insisted. "Now what do we do?"
"She'll be a while," Peggy said. She popped the last of her hamburger into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and wiped her mouth daintily on a paper napkin.
It was almost an hour before Angelo's massive form reappeared. She stood in the doorway struggling with her umbrella, and Peggy, face pressed against the window, exclaimed, "And I thought I was a tough-looking old broad! The meeting must not have gone well, to judge by that horrible scowl."
"That's her normal expression. The only time I've seen her smile was when she was harassing some helpless underling." Karen stared as intently as her friend. "She'd resent your description, though. She thinks she's irresistible to men."
Peggy was working on her second hamburger. "It's only one-thirty. Shall we hang around awhile longer? He may have scheduled two appointments this afternoon." Without waiting for an answer, she hailed the barman. "Hey, Dennis—how about a couple more beers?"
Dennis promptly obliged. "Any luck?" he asked solicitously.
"Not yet. The son of a bitch works a half day on Saturday, so he may not get here till mid-afternoon. I sure appreciate this, Dennis."
"So long as I don't get called as a witness."
Peggy winked at him. "I never told you a thing."
Dennis returned to his regulars at the bar. Karen decided any comment whatever would be futile.
Promptly at two o'clock the next suspect appeared, emerging from a taxi that halted in front of the shop. Karen pressed her face to the filthy glass.
"That's him!"
"Your grammar is deteriorating badly," Peggy remarked. "The bastard Bill, is it? He looks familiar. Have I seen him somewhere?"
"Oh, he's great at getting his face before the public," Karen said sourly. "He's hosted several public-television productions and written a couple of books on pop culture, with his photo splashed all over the back cover."
"Hmmm. He's not bad."
So far as Karen was concerned, the situation was too tense for misplaced humor. "How can you tell? You barely saw him."
"Tall, good shoulders, nice healthy head of hair ..."
"He's losing it."
"No, he's not. That's just a noble, lofty intellectual brow. Is he married?"
"Honest to God, Peggy, I don't know what's come over you."
"I'm just considering all the possibilities. Maybe you can vamp him."
"He's not vampable," Karen said, unable to restrain a smile. "He's too damned conceited. God's gift to the frustrated females of the Modern Language Association. Peggy, he was carrying a briefcase."
"There's no law against it. Why are you so down on the guy?"
"He patronizes me. In print and in person. Once he actually patted me on the head."
"I suppose you kneed him in the groin?"
"I wouldn't do anything so vulgar. I called him a rude name and walked away." Karen smiled complacently. "He's been known as Bill the Bastard in academic circles ever since."
Peggy's calm was the only thing that kept Karen in her chair. As the minutes dragged on, her impatience mounted; she didn't know what she wanted to do, but she felt a frantic need for action of some kind. When Meyer reappeared, after less than forty-five minutes, she couldn't stand it any longer. She jumped to her feet.
"He's got
