This was what he had been afraid of.

Her voice suddenly changed to an exaggerated seductive simper that broke the spell. "Besides, I kind of like the seat of your pants."

Here we go, he thought: her Mae West routine. Now that he had told her Jeffy was safe, she was back to the old, taunting Sylvia.

"As a matter of fact, if I'd known it was this easy to get you out to the house, I'd have made a night call years ago."

"Time to go," Alan said.

He led the way downstairs to the foyer. Something classical was playing softly through the speakers.

"What's that music?"

"The Four Seasons. Vivaldi."

"Not Vivaldi," Alan said, repressing a smile. "Valli. Frankie Valli sang with the Four Seasons. And that ain't them."

She laughed, and he liked the sound.

Then she spoke in a little voice. "Gee, Doc, I can't pay you tonight. I'm a little short. Will you take something else in place of money?"

Alan had been expecting this. "Sure. Gold will do. Jewelry."

She snapped her fingers in disappointment. "How about a drink then?"

"No, thanks."

"Coffee? Tea?"

"No, really I—"

"Me?"

"Coffee! Coffee'll do fine."

Her blue eyes flashed as she laughed. "Five points for you!"

"You asked for it, lady."

He wondered if she had always been like this, or if it was a trait she had developed after her husband had been killed. And he wondered too what she would do if he ever took her up on one of her offers. How much of her was for real and how much for show? He wasn't sure. Most of the time he was convinced she was putting him on, but then there was her wild reputation, and a sense that she really did want him.

"Oh, by the way," she said quickly as he put his hand on the doorknob. "I'm having a get-together here Saturday night. Why don't you and your wife—Virginia, isn't it?"

"Ginny."

"Why don't the two of you come over? It's nothing fancy. Just some friends—some of them are mutual, I'm sure—and a few politicos. Nobody really important."

"Politicos?"

She smiled that mischievous smile. "I've been known to make a contribution or two to the right candidate. So what do you say?"

Alan racked his brain for a quick excuse but came up empty. So he hedged. "I don't know, Sylvia. It's short notice and I don't know what Ginny's got planned for the weekend. But I'll let you know tomorrow."

Alan pulled the door open.

"You really have to go?" she said, suddenly serious.

"Yeah. I do." And fast.

She shrugged. "Okay. See you in the morning, I guess."

"Right."

And then he was out the door and into the cool air and on his way to the car. He didn't look back, didn't even breathe until he was headed down the driveway and passing through the gate.

Not a moment too soon, he thought, exhaling as he made his body relax into the seat. What that woman did to him…

As the drum opening from Little Richard's "Keep a-Knockin' " blasted from the car speakers, he gunned his car and headed for home.

"You'll never guess where I've been tonight," Alan said as he came into the bedroom.

On the way home he had figured out a solution to the Party Problem: He'd simply tell Ginny they were invited, Ginny would say no, and that would be it. She wouldn't go to a party at Sylvia's. After all, Sylvia had an unsavory reputation, and none of Ginny's crowd would be there and she'd have no one to talk to. Alan could then leave it up to Ginny to get them out of it. Easy.

Ginny was propped up in bed, eyes closed, a book on her lap. She opened her eyes and looked up. She was wearing her aqua-tinted contacts. She'd had them for six weeks now and Alan still wasn't used to them. She was a pretty, blue-eyed blonde without the contacts; a tall, attractive woman with curly hair cut close to her head. Definitely worth a second look. But with those contacts in place she was absolutely striking. Her eyes became a startling green that grabbed attention and held it.

She turned those eyes on him now. Would he ever get used to that color? Her long legs, lean and muscular from tennis year-round and golf whenever the weather permitted, slipped free of her robe as she stretched and yawned. She looked vaguely interested.

"The ER, you said."

"Yeah, there. But I made a house call on the way home."

"You should have been a dermatologist… no ER or house calls." .

Alan made no comment. They'd been over this ground too many times before.

"Okay," she said after a while. "On whom did you make this house call?" Ginny had become very precise in her grammar over the years.

"Sylvia Nash."

Her eyebrows lifted. "What's she got? Herpes?"

"Pull in the claws, dear. I was there to see her little boy, who—"

Ginny bolted upright. "Wait a second! You were in that house? The one in the article? What was it like? Was it like the pictures? Did she give you a tour?"

"No. I was about to tell you that her little boy had abdominal pain and—"

"But didn't you get to see the house?"

"Well, the foyer and the boy's bedroom. After all—"

Ginny grimaced with annoyance. "Ohhh, I'd give anything to see that place!"

"Really?" Alan said with a sinking sensation. This wasn't going the way he had expected. In fact, it was going the worst possible way. He decided to cover all exits. "That's too bad. If I'd known you felt that way I'd have accepted her invitation to the party at her place on Saturday night. But I told her we couldn't make it."

She rose to her knees on the bed, hands on hips. "You what?"

"I told her we were busy."

"How could you without asking me?"

"I just figured that since you called her—what was it? A tramp?—the last time her name came up, that you wouldn't want to have anything to do with her."

"I don't! I just want to see that house! You call her back first thing tomorrow and tell her we're coming. With bells on!"

"I don't know if I can, Ginny." She had that gleam in her eye and he knew there would be no turning her around.

"Of course you can! And if you won't, I will!"

"That's okay!" he said quickly. "I'll handle it." God knew what Sylvia might say to Ginny on the phone. "Just didn't think you'd want to go to a party thrown by someone you consider a tramp."

"But don't you want to go?" she said with arched eyebrows. "As I remember, you came to her defense pretty quickly when I made the remark."

"That's because I don't believe everything I hear."

"Everybody knows about her. And look at the way she dresses, the way she vamps around—"

"Vamps?"

"—and those wild parties where there's always a fight or something. And she's got to be into cocaine."

"I wouldn't know about that." Alan couldn't be sure, but he didn't think Sylvia was into anything stronger than champagne. He hoped not.

"You like her, don't you?" It sounded like a question but it wasn't. "Sure you don't have something going with her?"

"I can't hide it any longer, Ginny!" Alan shouted. "We've been lovers since the day Lou introduced us!"

Ginny yawned. "Figured as much."

Alan looked away. It was nice to know Ginny had that kind of faith in him. Did he deserve it?

Yes, he decided. Definitely. In all their years of marriage he had never cheated on her. Never even come close despite a good number of opportunities. But Sylvia… God, he was attracted to her! She was beautiful, but it was more than that. Beneath all her glittery posing there was a person he feared he could love if he let his feelings have their way.

Yet although he had shared no more than a handshake with the woman, he couldn't help but look on his feelings toward Sylvia as a kind of betrayal of Ginny. It was unfounded, but it plagued him. You can't help the way you feel, he always told himself; you're only responsible for what you do with those feelings.