tonight."

"Uh . . . O.K."

"Sweet Oliver," she said and left. The door clicked shut, and Oliver
stared at the ceiling. Francesca? Crap! He imagined Jacky describing
their evening in full detail. She wouldn't. But she might well mention
his name. How many short Olivers were there in Portland? He got out of
bed and took a quick shower. Aside from a manageable headache, he felt
loose and relaxed. Jacky had seen to that, for sure. He left the hotel
by a side door and walked home.

"Verdi? There you are. Good old Verdi. I was bad last night. Very bad.
Here you go." He spooned out a whole can of salmon Friskies. "Full
breakfast, this morning. None of those little snackies, no." It was
important to stay on the right side of Verdi.

He considered shaving. To hell with it. He let Verdi out and walked
down to the Victory Deli for a cranberry-blueberry pancake. Jacky. She
knew just which buttons to push. He couldn't help himself. He had been
feeling helpless enough lately without this demonstration of it. She
reveled in his helplessness, rolled in it like Verdi in catnip. I like
it, too, he admitted. I do. I do and I don't. He was so independent
most of the time that it was a relief, a sweet relief, to give in, to
trust her and be controlled by her. But there was also a whiff of
something forbidden about the relationship, something to do with his
mother again. Jacky was a little like her. It was a powerful mix.

He called her at six o'clock. "Hi, how was breakfast?"

"Hi, Oliver! Fun. Francesca's a good buddy."

"Did you tell her about me?"

"Why--no. You're my secret, Sweet; I'm keeping you to myself. Besides,
Francesca's beautiful. Men go gaga over her. She's one of these tall,
dark, silent types. Gorgeous eyes, inner fires. I'd go for her myself
if I weren't so friggin straight."

"Hallelujah!" Oliver said with feeling.

"Thank you," she said. "Poor Franny, she has a terrible marriage. Two
of the cutest little girls. Oliver, I'm hoping you will come visit. I
want to show you the Bay and feed you some proper crab cakes. The
weekend after next would be perfect."

"How far are you from Atlantic City?"

"About two hours."

"I've never been to Atlantic City," Oliver said. "I've been wanting to
see what it's like. I could drive down on Friday, see you on Saturday?
Unless you want to meet me at one of the casinos?"

"You come here," she said. "I went once and it didn't do a thing for
me. All those grandmothers