Hot Rocks

know you well enough to see it.”
    “You still think you know me after everything you’ve found out in the last couple of days?”
    “Yeah, I do. So uncork it. What comes first?”
    “Max thinks he’s in love with me.”
    “Really?” It wasn’t as easy for her to come to alert as it once had been, but Jenny dug her elbows into the cushions and pushed her heavy body straighter. “Did you intuit that, or did he say it? Right out say it?”
    “Right out said it. You don’t believe in love at first sight, do you?”
    “Sure I do. It’s all chemicals and stuff. There was this whole program on it on PBS. I think it was PBS. Maybe it was The Learning Channel. Anyway.” She waved that part aside. “They’ve done all these studies on attraction and sex and relationships. Mostly, it boils down to chemicals, instincts, pheromones, then building on that. Besides, you know Vince and I met when I was in first grade. I went right home from school and told my mom that I was going to marry Vince Burger. Took us a while to get there. State law’s pretty firm about six-year-olds getting hitched. But it sure was the right mix of chemicals from day one.”
    She never tired of picturing it—gregarious Jenny and slow-talking Vince. And she always saw them with their adult heads on sturdy little kids’ bodies. “You’ve known each other all your lives.”
    “That’s not the point. Minutes, days, years, sometimes it’s just a click, click.” Jenny snapped her fingers to emphasize. “Besides, why shouldn’t he be in love with you? You’re beautiful and smart and sexy. If I were a man I’d be all over you.”
    “That’s . . . really sweet.”
    “And you’ve got this interesting and mysterious past on top of it. How do you feel about him?”
    “All sort of loose and itchy and feebleminded.”
    “You know, I liked him right away.”
    “Jenny, you liked his ass right away.”
    “And your point would be?” She snickered, pleased when Laine laughed. “Okay, besides the ass, he’s considerate. He bought his mother a gift. He’s got that accent going for him, has a sexy job. Henry likes him, and Henry’s a very good judge of character.”
    “That’s true. That’s very true.”
    “And he’s not hung up with commitment phobia or he wouldn’t have used the l word. Added to all that,” she said softly, “he’s on your side. That came across loud and clear. He’s on your side, and that won him top points from the best-pal seats.”
    “So I should stop worrying.”
    “Depends. How is he in bed? Gladiator or poet?”
    “Hmm.” Thinking back, Laine ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “A poetic gladiator.”
    “Oh God !” With a little shudder, Jenny slumped back. “That’s the best. Snap him up, girl.”
    “I might. I just might. If we manage to get through all this without screwing it up.”
    She glanced back as her door opened and the bells jingled. “I’ll get this. Sit.”
    The couple was fortyish, and Laine pegged them as affluent tourists. The woman’s jacket was a thin butter-colored suede, and the shoes and bag were Prada. Good jewelry. A nice, square-cut diamond paired with a channel-set wedding band.
    The man wore a leather jacket that looked Italian in cut over nicely faded Levi’s. When he turned to close the door behind him, Laine spotted the Rolex on his wrist.
    They were both tanned and fit. Country club, she thought. Golf or tennis every Sunday.
    “Good afternoon. Can I help you with anything?”
    “We’re just poking around,” the woman answered with a smile, and a look in her eye that told Laine she didn’t want to be guided or pressured.
    “Help yourself. Just let me know if you need anything.” To give them space, she walked to the counter, opened one of her auction catalogues.
    She let their conversation wash over her. Definitely country club types, Laine thought. And made one of her little bets with herself that they’d drop five hundred minimum before heading out again.
    If she was wrong, she had to put a dollar in the ginger jar in her office. As she was rarely wrong, the jar didn’t see much action.
    “Miss?”
    Laine glanced over, then waved Jenny back before her friend could heft herself off the divan. She gave the female customer her merchant’s smile and wandered over.
    “What can you tell me about this piece?”
    “Oh, that’s a fun piece, isn’t it? Chess table, circa 1850. British. It’s penwork and ivory-inlaid ebony. Excellent