Summer at Castle Stone. Lynn Hulsman Marie

never sleeps.”

      “Well, I sleep. That’s where the city and I differ.”

      “Yeah, well, you sleep alone. Why don’t you change that tonight?”

      “Like I’m going to have sex with this guy whose name I can’t remember. I’m not sure I can pick him out of a crowd.”

      “You don’t need to know much to strip off and slide under the covers.”

      I shot her a look. Maggie knows I’m not impulsive like that.

      “Have it your way. What do you know about him?”

      “Nuh-thing! I have no idea why he asked me out. We weren’t even talking.”

      “How about because he liked what he saw? C’mon Shay, give yourself some credit. Any guy would want you. But a lack of confidence is a turn-off. Time to prepare! You have to plan about what you’re going to say, and planning how you’ll shift the conversation if it gets boring.”

      “I’m not going to do homework for a date! This is dumb. I’m canceling.” I picked up the phone and started to punch in numbers.

      “You can’t cancel the day of. He’ll think you’re a bitch.”

      “So?” She snatched the phone from my hand. “So? So he’s in publishing, right? New York is a small town for being a big city. For all you know, he could be your stepping stone to getting a new agent. Or he could be the assistant to an editor who’ll hire you and give you a promotion. You have to play the game.”

      “I don’t want to play the game.”

      “Too bad. How do you think your father got to be where he is today? He played the game.”

      “He’s a man.”

      “Then act like a man! That’s what I do. You don’t see me crying in a corner when an editor throws a coffee cup at my head. You don’t see me being seen and not heard when I’m around VIPs at The Frankfurt Book Fair or at famous people’s book launch parties. I do what I have to do to get ahead. That’s why I’m not a housewife in a one-horse town in Jersey. That’s why I have a novel coming out!”

      “Well, I guess you’re better than I am, then,” I mumbled.

      “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

      I looked away.

      “Shayla! I’m on your side. Don’t curl up into a ball. Fight! I’m not tooting my own horn, I’m just underlining the fact that you can have everything I have, and more if you want it. There’s a reason you’re my best friend. My time is limited; I don’t waste it on losers. You’re funny, bright, talented, and you’ve always been an amazing problem-solver. You’re just in a slump. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. You have it in you. And the best part is, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you, Shay.”

      I tried to shake off the sting of hearing the truth. “I know.”

      “You’re just tired.”

      “I’m always tired. Maybe being a Jersey housewife wouldn’t be so bad.”

      “Sorry to have to kick your ass, but now’s not the time to rest, now’s the time to push.”

      I knew she was right, deep down. “I don’t like pushing. Everything shouldn’t be this hard.”

      She sighed. “Well, it is. I don’t know what to tell you. This is the way it works, Shay.” She walked over to the fridge, swung open the door and got the milk. Then she grabbed the coffee pot off of the burner. Topping up my cup, she said, “you’re going to drink that, then we’re going to my room to pick out an outfit for your date tonight. Something sleek and sexy. Then we’re going to pick out an out an outfit for when you go see Brenda on Monday. Something professional and powerful.”

      “I don’t really want to go on the date, and I don’t really want to confront Brenda.”

      “Fine.” She set her jaw. “Your choice. It’s that or lie down and give up. Might as well pack your bags and move to Kansas, Dorothy.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared at me.

      I couldn’t help laughing. If someone as dynamic as Maggie believed in me, who was I to argue?

      “If I’m Dorothy, who are you? The Wizard of Oz?”

      “I’m about to be the bad witch if you don’t do what I say,” she said, shaking her finger at me. “And believe me, those flying monkeys fall into line or suffer for it.”

      I took a slug of my coffee, then stood up. “OK, you win.”

      “I always do,” she said. “So it’s pointless to sass me when I tell you to sit still while I blow-dry your hair and pluck your eyebrows. And you’re going to shave your legs if I have to stand outside the shower and watch you. My way or the highway!”

      I gave her a quick squeeze. “Hey, Mags… you’re better than a sister. Just, thanks.”

      “Come on, Sappy,” she said, shaking it off and bounding toward her bedroom. “Let’s get you into costume.”

      Heading out of the wind and down the icy steps to the supper club, I was grateful that Maggie had let me off the hook and allowed me to wear her wedge-heeled boots instead of the ones with the skinny heels. The place was all leather and wood, and scarlet tapestry. I was glad the club was warm and not one of those sterile chrome-and-glass affairs.

      I pulled off my hat and tried to fluff my crushed, damp hair. Scanning the bar for Jordan, I panicked, realizing I didn’t know what he looked like. There was a blonde guy walking out of the restroom. I raised my eyebrows and smiled. He put his arm around a thin brunette in a leather jacket and gave me a stern look. This was a stupid idea. I pulled my hat back on, ready to leave.

      I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, and I spun around, ready to snap. I recognized the green-eyed man as Jordan. Wow. He was actually a man. I didn’t remember him as being so filled out.

      “Hi, Shayla? Are you all right? You look, uh, upset.”

      “No! Not at all. Hey…you!” Brimming with nervous energy, I went in to kiss his cheek, to seem like a smooth player. When I lunged in, I caught my toe on his heavy boot. I fell forward, and he grabbed me hard by both elbows. Whipping his head around to keep his balance, he cracked me in the bridge of the nose with his jawbone.

      “Motherfuh … uh…uh…oh, man,” I stopped myself from swearing even though I saw stars. The pain was so sharp, I didn’t even worry that blood was dripping onto my (Maggie’s) silk turtleneck. At least it was black.

      “Hang on,” I heard Jordan say. I couldn’t see him with my eyes squenched shut. In a flash he was back, shoving a handful of bar naps into my hand. I pressed them to my bleeding nose and managed to open my eyes. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and on his lips sat the threat of a smile. “Why don’t we sit down?”

      “OK,” I said through my napkins, “but not at the bar.”

      Taking my arm, Jordan led me to a cozy leather banquette. “Two Maker’s Mark Manhattans,” he said to a passing waitress. I wanted a vodka and soda with lemon, but I let it go. “Why not at the bar?”

      “I swore off perching on bar stools on my 21st birthday. Friends took me out to celebrate and I woke up so sore the next day I felt like I needed traction. I like to be comfortable.”

      “Are you comfortable now?” He asked, smiling. “Because I am. It’s nice to relax with a gorgeous woman.”

      My hand flew to my nose to make sure it was clean. “Ha ha, yes, this place is great. Small warm rooms feel kind of like a hug.”

      He cocked his head and smiled. “I just have a thing about… I don’t know… not being cold. I positively will not go into a cold Lucite and metal bar. At least not in winter. It’s one of my rules.”