Strange Bedpersons. Jennifer Crusie

      “There must have been a card.” Gina sounded exasperated as she reached for the box and pawed through the tissue paper until she found it. “Got it. It says…” She hesitated while she pulled it out. “It says, ‘I saw this and knew you’d look great in it. Thank you for saving my life. Nick.”’ Gina frowned at Tess. “And you’re not planning on hanging on to him? You’re nuts. I’d kill to have somebody write me cards like this.”

      “That’s because you don’t know him like I do,” Tess grumbled. “I mean, look at this dress. Nancy Reagan would love this dress. He’s trying to make me a Republican for the weekend.”

      “Nancy Reagan dressed great,” Gina said. “You’re such a bigot. If it’s Republican, you want to burn a cross in the yard. Shape up.” She looked at the dress wistfully again. “It would be nice to have clothes like that, you know? Real clothes, not just cheap stuff.”

      Tess looked at the dress dubiously. “I suppose so.” She pulled at it a little, growing more cheerful as she studied it. “It’s just one night. And then maybe I can change the laces to red and lower the neckline.”

      “And put a slit up the side and pretend you’re Suzie Wong,” Gina added. “Why don’t you just give respectability a try?”

      “Never,” Tess said. “You’ll know I’m dead when I start acting respectable.”

      “Somehow I’m not worried,” Gina said. “Listen, all I’ve got for this thing is my black jersey dress. You know, the one with the belt? Is that gonna be okay?”

      “Sure.” Tess shrugged. “You look great in everything.”

      “It’s not like this,” Gina said, fingering the material of Tess’s dress one more time before she let go. “It’s not the kinda dress that people just look at and know it’s a good dress.”

      “Gina, you look so darling in everything you put on that people don’t care what you’re wearing.” Tess hung the dress on the back of the closet door. “Forget about your dress. You’ll look great. Nick’s picking me up at four. You’re riding with Park, right?”

      “You’re not going to be late, are you?” Gina said, sudden panic making her voice sharp. “Please.”

      “You’re not even riding down with us,” Tess said. “What difference does it make to you whether I’m late or not?”

      “All those people.” Gina clutched her hands together. “I want them to think I’m classy. I need you near me.”

      “Not if you want people to think you’re classy,” Tess said, and shut the closet door on the Nancy Reagan dress.

      NICK WAS NOT at all surprised that Tess wasn’t home when he came to pick her up on Friday afternoon. He put his suitcase by the door and rang the bell, and when there was no answer, he leaned against the wall to wait. Tess was always late because she always got caught up in the drama of the moment wherever she was. Time was relative to Einstein and Tess alike.

      While he waited, he thought about Tess and all the ways she could screw up his life, particularly this weekend. The more he thought about Tess and her cheerful bluntness, the more tense he got. He closed his eyes and thought about calling the whole thing off, and then he thought about Tess and spending the weekend with Tess and—if he laid his plans carefully—spending the night with Tess. The careercomes first, he reminded himself, but then he also reminded himself that man did not live by career alone. At least she’d be dressed well for the party, and as long as he never left her side maybe he could stop her from actually ruining his life, and besides, he wanted to be with her. He missed her. Okay, the weekend with Welch was probably not the best place to renew Tess’s acquaintance, but it was all he had. There was no point in obsessing over her unpredictability. That was the penalty for being with Tess. Tess would stop being spontaneous when she stopped being sloppy and late, and that would be never. Sometimes he thought that was one of the reasons he missed having her around—her chaos had been a sort of relief from his carefully mapped-out life. Not that there was anything wrong with a carefully mapped-out life. He’d spent twenty years weighing his every option and it had gotten him everything he’d ever wanted.

      Except partner.

      Well, he’d have that soon, too. If it took getting the Welch account, he’d get it, even if he had to bind and gag Tess to do it. And then he’d have everything he’d ever wanted.

      And then what?

      Nick considered his future.

      He’d been thinking about Park’s father’s theory that unmarried men over thirty-five were pathetic. Park’s father was wrong, of course, but he might have a point if he changed the age limit to forty. That was two years away for Nick. It might actually be time to start thinking marriage. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to get married. He had. Eventually. When his career was in place. When he found the right woman.

      But now he might make partner. And if he did, he’d need somebody to be a hostess, somebody to open the door of his house and welcome people in, somebody to call the caterers. It occurred to him that if Christine could develop some expression, it would probably be easiest just to upgrade her status to wife. God knew, she was undemanding and efficient. Unfortunately she was also Morticia Addams without the enthusiasm.

      What he needed was a cross between Christine and Tess.

      He thought about being married to Tess and grinned. Of course, she’d have to get different clothes, and he’d have to get his housekeeper to come every day to pick up after her, and she’d have to learn to shut up when it was politically necessary, but she’d also be around all the time, laughing, warming his life, warming his bed…

      It was a thought with definite promise.

      He heard the door slam downstairs, and then someone pounding up the three flights to Tess’s floor, and then Tess herself surged into view, stopping in her tracks when she saw him.

      She looked like a Gap ad, although he knew better than to tell her that. Her short red hair curled around her pale face, and her eyes were huge and placating as she smiled at him in apology. Her oversize navy T-shirt hung just to her hips over a navy cotton mini skirt, and she was wearing that god-awful baggy navy tweed jacket she loved. It was worn so thin that it fluttered as she walked toward him, but for once, he didn’t care. He felt good just looking at her.

      Suddenly the thought of a life with her had a lot more promise.

      “I’m sorry,” she said when she reached him. “I really am.”

      “Relax,” he said, keeping his arms folded so he wouldn’t reach for her. “We’ve got time.”

      Tess stopped and put her hands on her hips. “You said four at the latest.”

      “That’s because I knew you’d be late.” Nick looked at his Rolex. “But now we do have to get moving. Tell me you’re packed.”

      “I’m packed,” Tess said, giving up as she moved past him to unlock her door. “I can’t believe you set me up like this.”

      Nick picked up his suitcase and followed her into the apartment. “So what was it? No, let me guess. You were at the Foundation. Some kid needed help.”

      Tess grinned at him. “All right. Big deal. You know me.”

      “Remember that.” Nick looked around and sighed when he saw her bulging duffel on the couch. “I thought so. Give me that damn thing. I am not taking that to Kentucky.” Tess handed him the bag, and he frowned at her jacket. Her clothes were impossible. “Could we lose the jacket, too, just for the weekend?”

      “Oh, don’t be so snotty.” Tess smoothed her worn sleeve with love. “This is a great jacket. It’s very practical and it never wears out. And it has memories.”

      “Probably more than you do,” Nick said. “It’s been around a lot longer than you have.” He dumped the duffel