Cheating at Solitaire (4 page)

Do I know him?
Julia found herself wondering. He didn't seem like someone who worked in publishing, and she hadn't exactly been a social butterfly during the years she lived in Manhattan, but she couldn't shake the sense that she'd seen him somewhere before—maybe on a Wheaties box. Tall and strong, with sharp, gray eyes and broad shoulders, he had a clean-scrubbed, fresh-faced, Al -American Quarterback way about him. She saw him cross his arms—

strong, agile, hunky arms—and she thought she might be right, but then he caught her staring, so with the customary grace of every gangly girl who has ever been caught staring at the captain of the football team, Julia jerked her eyes back to the street.
Where's a bathroom to
hide in when you need one?

When at last a cab did pull to the curb, they both stood awkwardly for a second before she nodded at him and said, "It's yours."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Take it."

"Really," Julia said and gestured toward the waiting car. She gave him her best "I'm an independent woman who appreciates the gesture but is happy to decline" nod, but the young man took her arm and led her out into the rain, opened the cab door, and once she was inside, closed it behind her.

Julia suddenly felt out of her element. "Where to?" she heard the cabbie say, but her eyes never left the man who had turned up the collar of his jacket and was lumbering down Seventy-fifth Street, a dark silhouette in the gray shower. "Lady," the driver said impatiently, drawing her back to the task at hand, "where are we going?"

"FAO Schwarz," she told him, and they pulled away from the curb.

They drove slowly, trying to meld back into the heavy traffic, so the pace of the cab matched the pace of the young man who hunkered against the wet wind.
It looks really cold out there,
she thought.
Pneumonia weather.
A shower of guilt washed over her. It violated her every feminist notion to take the only available taxi in New York when it was pouring rain. Plus, her mother would have told her it was rude. She cracked the window and yelled, "Stop!" When the cab halted, she cracked the window wider and yelled to the dark, wet figure on the sidewalk by the car. "Hey, come on. Stop."

He looked at her, and Julia no longer saw a cocky quarterback who was concentrating on the big game. Maybe it was the way the rain ran through his hair and streaked across his face, or maybe it was the way he slouched, hands in pockets, as if the weather was the least of his problems, but Julia said, "Come on, share it with me."

Lance looked up at clouds and reached down to open the door. As they pulled into traffic and disappeared down Seventy-fifth Street, Richard Stone bolted from Stella's, climbed into a chauffeured Town Car, and yelled, "Follow that cab," as if he'd been waiting his entire life to say it.

WAY #22: Be careful with your money.

Having a single household almost always translates into having a single income. For some
people, making sound financial decisions comes natural y. For others, it's a chal enge. Know
your economic thresholds and take responsibility for living within your means.

—from
101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire

He still going to FAO Schwarz?" the driver’ asked.

Julia and Lance looked at each other. Before Julia could respond, Lance said, "Wherever you're going is fine with me. I don't have any place I need to be." "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Lance said. "Go on," he said to the driver, then turned to Julia and eyed the toy advertisement in her hands. "Your kids must be crazy about you."

"Oh." Julia glanced at the laser-printed page. "No. I don't have kids. It's my niece's birthday."

"Oh, that makes more sense. That looks about right for an aunt."

"True." She laughed, and Lance thought he'd never seen a face so pure. After three years of looking at artificial lips and eyes and breasts, he felt like he was seeing genuine features for the very first time. "It's my job to spoil them," Julia admitted.

"I'm Lance Collins, out-of-work actor," he said and offered his hand. "Thanks for the lift."

Julia reciprocated. "I'm Julia James, person who buys the love of children."

Lance laughed and said, "No harm in that."

"So what happened back there? Who was he?"

Lance opened his mouth to reply, but Julia quickly waved her hand. "No. Never mind. That's none of my business."

"That's okay," Lance said. "That was my agent. He . . . well . . . we're experiencing creative differences."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. You did your part."

When the taxi stopped, Julia handed the driver some money and told him to keep the change.

She and Lance slid out of the backseat of the car, and Julia extended her hand again and said,

"It was nice meeting you. Good luck."

"You, too," he told her. Then, instead of hopping back into the cab, he began walking down the wet sidewalk through the still-heavy drizzle. Julia stood in the plaza in front of the store's main entrance and watched him.
What i f he's suicidal?
she thought to herself.
What i f he walks in
front of a bus?
Julia imagined waking up the next morning to a headline about a depressed, out-of-work actor who'd thrown himself on the subway's third rail. If that happened, she'd never forgive herself.

Then she looked through the glass storefront at a busy, public place filled with stuffed things and snappy music. "Do you want to come shopping?" she found herself calling after him. "Toys?

Games? Lots of happy childhood memories? It might cheer you up." Lance looked back at her.

Then, with the exuberance of a child, he said, "Cool," and led the way inside. As they stopped to admire a towering display, they didn't see Richard Stone staring at them through the window, hands cupped around his eyes.

"Oh, this is honey!" Richard muttered, then began dialing his cell phone.

"Tammydonotputmeonhold!" he yelled. "Listen very carefully, and do exactly what I say."

Lance hadn't been able to see over the pile of toys in his arms for several aisles. Bright colors bore down all around them, and in the distance, the sounds of children playing superhero filled the air. He couldn't imagine that there was something in the store Julia hadn't bought yet, but they kept walking.

"All
of this is for your niece?" he asked.

"I have a niece and a newborn nephew. Cassie is turning five on Saturday."

Her high heels tapped out a steady beat on the tile, and Lance marched dutifully behind, kind of enjoying the balancing act he was performing with an Etch A Sketch that teetered on top of the pile. "I hate to disappoint you," he said, "but some of these seem a little advanced for a five-year-old."

"You don't know Cassie. She's five going on forty."

"Ah"—he nodded—"one of those."

"Yes," Julia said, tucking more boxes beneath her arms.

Lance was beginning to think that he could get used to being around someone so comfortable in her own skin.
That's the problem with the theater,
he thought.
Everybody's acting.

"So," he asked, trying to sound casual, "where's this party going to be?"

"Tulsa, Oklahoma. That's where I live."

"You don't live here?" Lance asked, a little dumbfounded and surprisingly disappointed. "Wow.

I never would have pegged you for a tourist."

"Oh." Julia was quick to correct. "I'm not. I used to live here—years ago. I come back for business every now and then. You might say I'm more like an expatriate."

"Well," Lance said, mustering up a smile. "Welcome back."

"It is you!" a woman squealed behind them and ran through the aisle of toys, dragging a little boy behind her. Judging from the look on the child's face, Lance guessed that his arm was about to pop right out of its socket, and would have if the woman hadn't stopped in front of Julia.

"Miss James! Miss James! Oh, it is you! I'm Linda. Linda Westerman Worthington. I've read everything you've ever written. Everything!" The woman jerked the little boy's arm and said,

"His sorry SOB of a father ran off and . . . Oh! I can't believe it's really you."

"Hi," Julia said, with her most professional smile. She leaned down to the little boy. "And what's your name?"

"That's Conner," the woman said offhandedly. "When I saw you standing here, I said to myself, this is fate! My story would be
perfect
for your next book. We could write it together.
One
Hundred and One Ways to Disembowel a Cheater,
or maybe—"

"I don't do case studies. I'm sorry," Julia quickly jumped in, cutting the woman off. "Maybe a psychologist?" she added, patting the woman's hand. Lance thought the woman needed to be a patient of a good shrink rather than a coauthor. "Thanks for coming over. It's always nice to meet a fan. Have a nice day," Julia said and started down the aisle.

They'd almost turned the corner when the woman cried out, "Young man, when you're finished with Miss James, I need a few—"

"Excuse me?" Lance asked.

"I know you're busy now, but if you could just tell me—"

"I'm sorry, Linda," Julia said. "I'm afraid he doesn't work here."

The woman's eyes grew wide. Her gaze shifted between Julia and Lance, and her jaw went slack.

"Linda," Julia asked, "are you okay?"

"You're . . ." Linda said, pointing at Julia. "Here with . . . ?" Her finger trailed upward to Lance's perfect smile. "Come on, honey," she said, tugging her son's arm again. "Momma needs to go lie down."

"No offense," Lance said to Julia after the woman had disappeared into the next aisle, "but your fans are kind of weird. Does that happen to you a lot?"

"Trust me, toy stores are some of the safest places I can be. Now, video stores, grocery stores, airports—they can get pretty tricky. The downside of fame." Then, with a smile, she added,

"Get used to it."

"I'd love to have the chance."

Richard couldn't get over the size of it—really. He had wasted a few minutes worrying that he was having Tammy call in the wrong favor for the wrong occasion, but when he saw a man walking down Fifth Avenue carrying the biggest camera he had ever seen, Richard knew this guy could get the job done. Sure, it was going to cost him a Broadway audition for a private de-tective who couldn't carry a tune, but just one glance at that telephoto lens made Richard Stone start to salivate.

Once or twice, he started to go into the store and see for himself what was going on in there, but he stopped. He didn't want to scare them away. The money shot would come outside the store—the happy couple smiling and laughing after a shopping spree on the town. So he waited.

The rain had stopped, so pedestrians skirted the sidewalks, and, momentarily, Richard worried that there would be too much activity on the street to get a clean shot. But again, he looked at the size of the camera, and he knew he was working with a professional. Then, through the revolving door at the front of the store, Richard saw a mass of bright red curls waving in the wind that swept around the plaza. Richard said, "That's her. That's her. Get ready." The photographer steadied his camera like a sniper.

But wait. Something was wrong.

Where was the kid?

Did she ditch him inside? Richard was starting to panic. She was getting away. His master plan was crumbling. All the kid had to do was walk outside and stand next to her; how hard could that be?

He watched her ask the doorman to hail a cab, and Richard felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. She was going to get away.
Damn him,
Richard thought, and fought the temptation to run through the lanes of traffic and plant a kiss on her himself. Then Lance Collins walked out of FAO Schwarz, his hands full of shopping bags and an enormous bear tucked under one arm.

Lance grinned, and as Julia James took the big bear from his arms, Richard noted that he really was a good-looking kid.

Instantly, snaps and flashes filled the air.

Richard pranced along the sidewalk, speaking to pedestrians like a vendor at a fair. "The name is Collins, Lance Collins. And he and Julia James are very much in love!"

WAY #30: Don't believe everything you read.

It's very difficult to be accepting of our own bodies. This topic deserves its own book, but
since I'm not qualified to write it, Iift won't. Instead, I'l just say this: The pictures staring out
at you from the supermarket checkout stands, the images we are al supposed to aspire to?

They lie.

# —from 107
Ways to Cheat at Solitaire

Whenever Caroline was in a hurry, there always seemed to be a line at the neighborhood market. Luckily, Nicholas was sleeping comfortably in his carrier, and Cassie was scanning the headlines that bordered the checkout aisle. Caroline sometimes worried what effect exposure to tabloid headlines might have on her daughter, a sponge who absorbed everything she saw.

But instead of worrying, Caroline decided she should just be grateful that her five-year-old child was gifted enough to be reading at this age at all. Plus, it occupied Cassie while Caroline kept a sharp eye tuned to the register.

"Excuse me," she said as the teenybopper in the blue smock whisked the cereal box over the scanner without a second glance at Caroline, who thrust a tiny slip of paper toward her. "I have a coupon for that," she said, forcing the coupon into the girl's hands.

"Momma," Cassie said behind her.

"Not now, sweetie. Momma's busy. Those are two for one." She gestured at the boxes of mac and cheese.

"Momma, it's Aunt Julia—with a boy!"

"Sweetie, don't say that. That might hurt Aunt Julia's . . . "