Bet Me

Chapter Seven

Forty-five minutes later, Catra was climbing the steps to Adora’s place when something small and orange streaked past her and almost knocked her down the hill. She finished the climb cautiously, but when she looked around at the top, nothing was there. Catra rang the doorbell, and Bonnie came to let her in.

"Hi," she said. "Adora ordered takeout." Catra held up the bag, feeling stupid, her least favorite feeling in the world..

"And you're delivering?" Bonnie said as she stepped back.

"Well, you can never have enough extra cash," Catra said and hit the stairs, knowing Bonnie was watching her. When she got to the top, Catra heard Elvis Presley singing "Heartbreak Hotel" through Adora’s door and sighed.

Adora looked surprised when she opened the door at her knock, and she felt pretty stunned herself: as far as she could see, all Adora was wearing was a very long, very old blue sweatshirt and lumpy sweat socks. Her hair was down in frizzy waves, and she was wearing no makeup, so the only color on her face was the fading yellow bruise from where Catra clocked her.

"What the hell?" she said. "How did you get in the front door?"

"This is how you open the door to delivery?'" Catra said, staring at the good strong legs she'd scoped out in the bar on Friday.

"No, this is how I open the door to Bonnie," Adora said. "Stop ogling. I have shorts on under this." She pulled up the edge of her shirt and Catra saw baggy plaid boxers that were only marginally less ugly than her shirt and socks. "Why did you get in the front door?"

Then something orange streaked past both their legs and into the apartment. "What is that?" Adora said, and Catra came in, leaving the door open behind her.

"I don't know." Catra put Emilio's bag down on an old cast iron sewing machine table beside a couch that looked like a moth-eaten, overstuffed pumpkin. "It ran past me on the steps—"

"Oh, Lord ," Adora said and Catra turned to look where she was looking.

The mangiest-looking animal she'd ever seen was glaring at them from the end of the couch, its left eye closed and sinister. It was mottled all over in browns and oranges so that, in general, it matched the couch.

"What is that?" Adora said.

"I think it's a cat," Catra said.

"What kind?" Adora said, an awful fascination in her voice.

"Not a good kind," Catra said. "Although you did say you wanted one." "No, I didn't," Adora said.

"When I brought you home last week," Catra said. "You said you were going to get a cat."

"That was a joke," Adora said, keeping an eye on the cat. "That's what every woman in her thirties who's been screwed over by people says. 'I'm going to give up the bastards and get a cat.' It's a cliche"

"You know," Catra said, watching the cat, too, "if you're going to talk in code, you have to warn me."

The cat didn't seem to be moving, so Catra looked around the rest of her apartment. It appeared to be the entire attic, its crazy angles punctuated by dormers, and it was furnished in ancient pieces, none of them antiques. She frowned and thought, This doesn't look like her.

Adora tilted her head at the cat, nonplussed. "Why is its eye shut?" "My guess is, that one's missing," Catra said.

"Hard life, huh, cat?" Adora sighed. "I have extra chicken. I tried the marsala and screwed it up. Maybe the cat will be desperate enough to eat it."

"If you feed it, it'll stay forever," Catra said. "Yo, cat, the door's open. Leave." The cat curled up on the back of the couch and stared at her haughtily.

"It looks very Cheshire," Adora said. "Like it could disappear a little bit at a time."

"And it's already started with the eye," Catra said. "Adora, this cat probably has every disease in the Cat's Book of Death."

"I can at least feed it," Adora said and went to get some chicken.

"It does go with the couch." Catra closed the door and moved Emilio's bag from the sewing machine table to a battered old round oak table behind the couch. The cat watched her every move while pretending not to care.

Adora brought some chicken slivers on a paper towel. She put it under the cat's nose and then stepped back. It sniffed at the chicken and then looked at her. "I know," she said, despair in her voice. "It's awful. You don't have to eat it."

The cat lifted its nose and then nibbled at the closest piece.

"That's a very brave cat," Adora told Catra and went to the mantel to get her purse. "Let me pay you or Emilio or whoever."

"No," Catra said, still looking around. The furniture was all comfortable, but none of it was interesting or attractive, nothing like Adora. It was almost as if it were somebody else's apartment. "Are you subletting?"

"No," Adora said, fishing in her purse. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing." There were snow globes on the mantel, lined up on both sides of a kitschy old clock made from fake books, and Catra went over beside her to look at them, saying, "You didn't pick out this furniture."

"It was my grandmother's," Adora said. "Look, you're not going to pay for my dinner. You did me a favor by bringing it, so—"

"You collect these?" Catra said, picking up Rocky and Bullwinkle. "Catra," Adora said.

"There's enough food there for an army," she said. "If you want company, I'm staying and eating half of it. If you don't, I'll take half with me, although I am reluctant to leave you alone with that animal." Catra put Rocky down and looked at the next one. Chip and Dale. "Where did you get these?"

"Friends," Adora said. "Family. Flea markets." She paused. "You can stay." She looked at the cat which, having wolfed down the chicken, now seemed to be considering sleep. "You I don't know about," she said, and it regarded her gravely, its right eye closed. "Wasn't the other eye closed before?" Adora said to Catra. "The left one?"

"I can't remember," Catra said. "I wouldn't be surprised. It's a very shifty cat. You know, this furniture is not you, that clock is not you, and you don't seem like the snow globe type."

"I know it's not me," Adora said, looking around at it. "But it's good furniture, so it doesn't make sense to buy new. Besides, it reminds me of my grandmother. And the snow globe thing started by accident." She turned back to Catra. "At least let me pay for half of dinner."

"No." Catra picked up a massive piece that had a globe with Lady and the Tramp sitting on top of a detailed Italian restaurant. "What kind of accident?"

"My Grandma had a Mickey and Adora Mouse snow globe. They were dancing and Adora was wearing a long pink dress and Mickey was dipping her." Adora’s voice softened as she spoke. "My grandpa gave it to her for a wedding anniversary, but I loved it so much that she gave it to me when I was twelve."

Catra scanned the mantel. Christine and the Phantom, Jessica and Roger Rabbit, Blondie and Dagwood, Sleeping Beauty and the Prince, Cinderella and her prince in front of a castle with white doves suspended in air, even Donald and Daisy were there, but no Mickey and Minnie. "Where is it?"

"I lost it," Adora said. "In one of the moves when I was in college. You know how it is, you move every year and stuff disappears. I was upset about it so people started giving me other ones on my birthday and for Christmas to make up for it. I tried to tell them I didn't want any more, you know, 'Thank you, it's lovely, but you shouldn't have,' but by then it had taken on a life of its own." She looked at the mantel and sighed. "I have boxes of them in the basement. These are just my favorites. Never collect anything. People never let you quit."

Catra looked over the assortment again. There was one big, dark one at the end of the mantel that looked like monsters. "What's this?" she said, picking it up.

"Disney villains," Adora said. "Lonnie and Bonnie each got me one for Christmas two years ago." "Lonnie got you that one," Catra said, putting it back.

"How do you know it wasn't Bonnie?" Adora said.

"Because that's not Bonnie." She pointed to the Cinderella globe with the doves. "She got you that one."

"Yes," Adora said. "I still don't see—"

"Bonnie wants the fairy tale," Catra said. "Lonnie's a realist, she sees the bad guys. Also Bonnie wouldn't have missed the important part. She got you a couple."

"A couple of what?" Adora said.

"A couple," Catra said. "Twosome. These are all couples. Look. Lady and the Tramp, Christine and the Phantom, Jessica Rabbit and Roger... except for Lonnie's, they're all couples."

"I wouldn't call Rocky and Bullwinkle a couple exactly," Adora said, looking at them doubtfully. "And Chip and Dale. I mean, I know there have been rumors, but—"

"C'mon, Minnie," Catra said. "You started with a couple." "Don't call me that," Adora said, her eyes flashing at her.

"You can call me Mickey," Catra said, grinning at her, wanting that flash again.

"I'm going to call you a cab if you don't stop annoying me," Adora said. "Can we just eat?"

Catra gave up and went back to the table to unpack Emilio's bag, detouring around the cat in case it decided to go rogue and start on her. "That guy really did a number on you."

"What guy?"

"The one who dumped you the night I picked you up. You must have loved him a lot."

"Oh." Adora blinked. "Him? No. Not at all."

Good, Catra thought, even though it didn't make any difference. "Do you have plates?"

She went around the table and into an alcove that anybody else would call a closet, but that her landlord evidently thought was a kitchen.

"Get wineglasses, too," Catra said as she opened the box with the bread in it. "What?" Adora said, leaning out of the alcove.

"Glasses," Catra said. "For the wine."

Adora came out of the alcove with two wineglasses and set the table while Catra pulled the cork from the wine and poured, trying not to look at her sweats. It was nice of her to dress so badly. If she'd been wearing that red sweater again, she might have had a problem. Then Adora opened the carton with the salad in it, and tried to plate it using a tablespoon. "Damn," she said, as the dressing spilled onto the table.

"You don't cook, do you, Adora?" Catra said. "Oh, and you do?" Adora said.

"Sure." Catra took the spoon from her. "I worked in a restaurant while I was in college. You need a big spoon, Adora. This one is for eating."

"Or I could just jab you with it," Adora said.

Catra shook her head and went around Adora into the kitchenette to look for a larger spoon and instead found a frying pan with something horrible in it.

"What is this?" Catra said when Adora came in for a paper towel.

"None of your business," Adora said. She raised her eyebrows at Adora and said, "I thought I could make it on my own. I got the recipe. But it didn't—"

Light dawned. "This is chicken marsala?"

"No," Adora said. "That is a mess, which is why I called Emilio's." "What did you do?" Catra said.

"Why?" Adora said. "So you can make snarky comments?"

"Do you want to know how to make chicken marsala or not?" Catra said, exasperated. Adora was such a pain in the ass.

*1 Vie,

She scowled up at Catra. "Yes."

"What's the first thing you did?" Catra said.

"Sprayed the pan with olive oil," Adora said.

"Sprayed?" Catra said. "No. Pour. A couple of tablespoons." "Too much fat," Adora said.

"It's good fat," Catra said. "Olive oil is good for you." "Not for my waistline," Adora said.

"You're going to have to pour, Adora," Catra said. "It's part of the flavor." "Okay," Adora said, but she looked mutinous. "Then I browned the chicken."

"Too fast," Catra said. "Pound the chicken breasts first. Use a can if you don't have a mallet, put them in a plastic bag, and pound them thin. Then dredge them in flour mixed with ground black pepper and kosher salt."

"You're kidding," Adora said. "Flour just adds calories."

"And seals the chicken," Catra said. "So it doesn't get..." she picked up a fork, jabbed one of the petrified slabs in the pan, and held it up. "... dry. Then what did you do?"

Adora folded her arms. "When they were browned, I put the mushrooms in and poured the wine over and let it reduce."

"No butter?"

"No butter," Adora said. "Are you insane?"

"No," Catra said, dropping the chicken back in the pan. "But anybody who makes chicken marsala without olive oil, butter, or flour may be. If you wanted broiled chicken, you should have made broiled chicken." she dipped her finger in the sauce and tasted it. It was so vile that she lost her breath, and Adora ran for a glass of water and handed it to her.

"I don't know why that part didn't work," she said.

"What marsala did you use?" Catra said when she'd gotten the taste out of her mouth, and Adora handed her a bottle of cooking wine. "No, no, no," Catra said and then relented when she winced. "Look, honey, when you make wine sauce, you're cooking the wine down, concentrating it. You have to use good wine or it'll taste like . . . she looked down at the pan. ".. . this. It's a wonder the cat's not dead."

"Ouch," Adora said. "Could you write that down for me?"

"No," Catra said, and then they heard a crash from another room. Catra looked around. "Your cat's gone, Adora. You leave a window open anywhere?"

"I have one of those cheapo sliding screens in the bedroom," Adora said and went through a doorway beside the mantel to look. "Oh, this is good," she said when she was inside, and Catra followed her in.

Her sliding screen was gone from the dormer window, which was now open to the night air. Catra went over and looked out. The screen was halfway down the roof, and the cat was sitting in a tree branch that tapped the shingles, washing its paws. Its left eye was closed.

"It does switch eyes," Catra said, pulling her head back in. "Maybe it's conserving ..." Her voice trailed off as she saw Adora’s bedroom.

Most of it was filled with the most elaborate brass bed she'd ever seen, a huge thing covered with a watery lavender-blue satin comforter and lavender satin pillows that were piled against a headboard that curved and twined, erupting in brass rosettes and finials, until she grew dizzy just looking at it. "How do you keep from falling out of bed?"

"I just hold on and try not to look at the headboard," Adora said. "I love it. I bought it last month even though it was completely impractical., . ."

She went on, but Catra had stopped listening when she said, "I just hold on," imagining her lying back on the soft blue satin comforter, her soft gold-tipped curls spread out on the pillows, her soft lips open as she smiled at her, those soft hands gripping the headboard, her soft body—

"Catra?" Adora said.

"It smells good in here," Catra said, trying to find a thought that didn't have "soft" in it. Or "hard," for that matter.

"Lavender pillows," Adora said. "My grandmother always put lavender in her pillowcases. Or maybe it's the cinnamon candles."

Catra cleared her throat. "Well, it's . . . nice. It's the first thing I've seen in this apartment that looks like you." The thought of tipping her onto that blue comforter was entirely too plausible, so she said, "We should go eat. Now."

"Okay," Adora said and started for the door. "You want the window closed?" Catra said. "Then how will the cat get back in?" Adora said.

"Good point," Catra said, thinking, Oh, Christ, I gave her a feral cat, and followed her out.

When they were eating Emilio's salad, Adora said, "So chicken marsala is not heart smart or weight friendly."

"Heart smart?" Catra said, picking up her tumbler of wine. "Does that mean good for your heart? Because it is. I told you, olive oil is good for you. And a little bit of flour and butter won't kill you."

"Tell that to my mother." Adora tasted her salad again. "This is so good. You know, the lesson here is, I shouldn't be cooking."

"Why?" Catra said. "It was the first time you tried. Everybody makes mistakes." she picked up the chicken carton and filled the two plates, managing it so that nothing spilled.

"Except you," Adora said, watching her. "You do everything well."

"Okay," Catra said, putting the carton down. "You just got dumped, I get that, but you didn't care about the guy, so why are you still so mad and taking it out on me?"

Adora cut into her chicken. "He was sort of the last straw." She put the chicken in her mouth and chewed, and got the same blissful look she always got when eating good food.

"You should never diet." Catra picked up her fork and began to eat. "So what did he do that you can't get over?"

"Well." Adora stabbed a mushroom with more antagonism than it deserved. "It was mostly my weight." "He criticized your weight?" Catra shook her head. "This guy has the brains of a brick."

"He didn't criticize, exactly," Adora said. "He just suggested that I should go on a diet. And then he left because I wouldn't sleep with him."

"He told you to go on a diet and then asked you to bed?" Catra said. "I take it back. Bricks are smarter than this dipwad."

"Yes, but he has a point," Adora said. "I mean, about my weight." She looked at Catra, defiant. "Right?"

"There is no way I can answer that without getting all that rage put back on me," Catra said. "Keep it on the loser who dumped you. I'm the good one here."

Adora stabbed another mushroom, and then put the fork down. "Okay, I'll give you a free pass on this one. No matter what you say, I won't get mad."

Catra looked at her stormy face and laughed. "How are you going to work that?"

Adora nodded. "Okay, I'll get mad, but I'll play fair. The thing is, you're the only one I trust enough to tell me the truth."

"You trust me?" Catra said, surprised and flattered. "I thought I was a beast." "You are," Adora said. "But you do tend to tell me the truth. On most things." Catra stopped eating.

"On all things. I've never lied to you."

"Yeah," Adora said dismissively. "So what am I supposed to do about my weight?"

Catra put her fork down. "All right. Here's the truth. You're never going to be thin. You're a round woman. You have wide hips and a round stomach and full breasts. You're ..."

"Healthy," Adora said bitterly.

"Lush," Catra said, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breasts under her sweatshirt. "Generous," Adora snarled.

"Opulent," Catra said, remembering the soft curve of her under her hand. "Zaftig," Adora said.

"Soft and round and hot, and I'm turning myself on," Catra said, starting to feel dizzy. "Do you have anything on under that sweatshirt?"

"Of course," Adora said, taken aback.

"Oh," Catra said, ditching that fantasy. "Good. We should be eating. What were we talking about?" "My weight?" Adora said.

"Right," Catra said, picking up her fork again. "The reason you can't lose weight is that you're not supposed to lose weight, you're not built that way, and if you did manage through some stupid diet to take the weight off, you'd be like that chicken mess you just made. Some things are supposed to made with butter. You're one of them."

"So I'm doomed," Adora said.

"Another problem is that you don't listen. You want to be sexy, be sexy. You have assets that skinny women will never have, and you should be enjoying them and dressing like you enjoy them. Or at least dressing so that others can enjoy them. That suit you were wearing the night I picked you up made you look like a prison warden." Catra remembered looking down the front of her red sweater and added, "Your underwear's good, though."

"There are no clothes that look good on me," Adora said.

"Of course there are," Catra said, still making her way through dinner. "Although you're the kind of woman who looks better naked than dressed." Her treacherous mind tried to imagine that and she blocked it. "I'm assuming. Eat, please. Hunger makes you cranky."

"I look better naked?" Adora said, picking up her fork again. "No. Listen—"

"You asked, I told you," Catra said. "You just don't want to hear it. The truth is, most guys would rather go to bed with you than with a clothes hanger, you're a lot more fun to touch, but most women don't believe that. You keep trying to lose weight for each other."

Adora rolled her eyes. "So I've been sexy all these years? Why hasn't anybody noticed?"

"Because you dress like you hate your body," Catra said. "Sexy is in your head and you don't feel sexy so you don't look it."

"Then how do you know I am?" Adora said, exasperated.

"Because I've looked down your sweater," Catra said, flashing back to that. "And I've kissed you, and I have to tell you, your mouth is a miracle. Now eat something ."

Adora looked at her plate for a moment and then dug in. "God, this is good," she said a few minutes later. "Nothing better than good food," Catra said. "Well, except for—"

"There's got to be a way to make this heart smart," Adora said.

Catra shook her head. "Good to know I've been talking to myself here. Did you hear anything I said?"’ "Yes," Adora said. "So I looked like a prison warden when you picked me up, huh?"

"No," Catra said. "You had great shoes on. You do let yourself go on shoes. "Nice toes, too.”

"So the reason you crossed the bar to pick me up even though I looked like a prison warden was because of my shoes?"

The question sounded pointed, so Catra tried to remember why she had picked her up. The dinner bet. She winced. That stupid dinner bet with David. "Oh, hell."

"There was a bet, wasn't there?" Adora said, sounding disgusted.

Catra took out her wallet and put a ten on the table. "There you go, it's all yours. Can I finish dinner before you throw me out?"

"Sure," Adora said. "You know, you're taking losing that bet pretty well." "I didn't lose," Catra said, stabbing another mushroom. "I don't lose." "You collected on that bet?" Adora said, sounding outraged.

Catra frowned at her. "You walked out the door with me. I won." "And everybody just assumes . . ."

"Assumes what?" Catra said, exasperated. "Somebody bet me ten bucks I could get you to leave with me. You left with me. I got the ten bucks. Now you've got the ten bucks. Can we move on?"

"So the bet's over," Adora said, disbelief palpable in her voice.

"Yes," Catra said, moving beyond exasperation. "Okay, it wasn't the best start to a relationship, but we don't have a relationship, what with you waiting for Elvis and both of us with our non-dating plans. Plus I'm feeding you. Again. Why are you mad?"

"No reason at all," Adora said, flatly, and went back to her chicken. "I'm missing something big here, aren't I?" Catra said.

"Yep," Adora said. "Keep eating."

Catra offered to help with the dishes, but Adora shoved her out the door, fed up with Catra because of the bet and with herself for caring. She put the leftovers from Emilio in the fridge and dumped the mess she'd made into the trash, and then she went into her bedroom and crawled under the satin comforter. Catra had said the bed was the only thing that looked like her. In an apartment full of plain lumpy furniture, she'd picked out the one beautiful, rich, sexy thing and said, "That's you." The bastard.

The cat jumped up on the bed and padded across to her. "Hey," she said as it curled up by her side. She petted it, feeling its skinny little body under its fur, and it opened both eyes. They were different colors, one of them stained with a blotch that matched the blotch of its fur. "Patchwork cat," she said, and it snuggled next to her, incredibly comforting. She turned on her bedside stereo and listened to Elvis sing about how lousy life had been since his baby left him. The cat pricked up its ears for about a verse, and then relaxed into the comforter again. "Moving into Heartbreak Hotel, are you?" Adora said to it, and scratched it behind the ears. It lifted its head to press closer to her fingers, and she looked at its weird little face, screwed up in ecstasy with both eyes shut, and felt a rush of affection for it. It began to purr, and the sound was more comforting that she could have imagined.

"It would not be sensible to keep you," she told it, and it opened its eyes slowly and then closed them again, and she kept petting it as it curled close, warm and peaceful and comforting. No wonder all those single women kept cats. They certainly beat charming, lying, compulsive gamblers who kissed like gods and had hands like— "Oh, I'm so lonely, baby," Elvis sang, and Adora reached over and punched the up button. The cat picked up its head, but it seemed to like "Don't Be Cruel" as well as "Heartbreak Hotel" and curled up again, warm against her stomach. "You can stay," she told it, and they lay together in companionable silence, listening to Elvis, until they both fell asleep.

"There's a real babe waiting in your office," David's assistant said when David came in on Wednesday. "Very nice."

Adora, David thought and then realized with disappointment that it couldn't be. Nobody described Adora as a babe.

When he opened the door, Cynthie was sitting across from his desk, looking phenomenal in a red suit. "There you are," she said, standing up.

"That's a great suit," he said, closing the door behind him. He walked around her, impressed by the way the skirt curved under her tight little butt without hugging it.

"David," Cynthia said. "Forget the suit. Why is Catra still dating the woman you love?" "Dating?" David lost interest in Cynthie's suit and sat down behind his desk.

"She took her to lunch on Monday which meant she couldn't go with me. She took her dinner last night at her place." Cynthie leaned closer, her lovely little face tense. "I thought you were going to call Greg. Why is she still with her?"

"I did call Greg." David moved some papers around while he thought fast. "I don't know why it didn't work. Maybe had a good time when she was with her. "Maybe Catra wants to win ten thousand dollars.

"But no sex," Cynthie said.

"No," David said, praying Adora was still frigid. "They will not be having sex."

"I think you're right." Cynthie began to pace. "Adora doesn't sound like a woman who would do it that fast, and Catra wouldn't push it. She has great instincts."

"Well, hooray for her," David said. "Is there anything else you wanted?"

Cynthie leaned over the desk. "I want you to call Adora. Ask her to lunch, ask her to dinner, pay for it, and get her back."

David looked down the neckline of her suit and revisited her cleavage. "You do this on purpose, don't you?"

Cynthie took a deep breath, her jaw rigid. "David, I am a dating expert who is losing the woman she loves. This isn't just about my private life, this is about my public life, it's about my whole life. I have a potential bestseller on my hands, my editor wants to put our wedding picture on the back cover, everything is riding on this, and I am not going to see it go down the drain because you're too spineless to get your girlfriend back." She leaned closer. "I'll go away when you promise me you'll call her for lunch, and you tell me who her best friends are. I saw two in the bar on Friday. A little blonde and a tall redhead. Are they close to her?"

Her perfume wafted toward him, very faint, a whisper of a scent that made him dizzy. "What perfume are you wearing?" he said, trying to ignore the "spineless" crack.

"It's a special blend made just for me," Cynthie said, her voice lower now. "It's made of the scents that most strongly activate a man's libido. I put it on for you, David. Who's her best friend?"

David shook his head to clear it and slid his chair back, away from her. "What's in that stuff?"

"Lavender and pumpkin pie." Cynthie straightened. "I need to know her best friend. I'm helping you, David. You want the actuary back, right?"

She stood in front of him, lithe and lean in red wool crepe, smelling like lavender and cinnamon, and it took him a minute to remember who the actuary was.

"I don't even like you," he told her. "Why am I so turned on?" She rolled her eyes. "Because you're male. Who's her friend?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Cynthie exhaled through her teeth. "I told you this. Attraction. If I can tell her best friend about Catra's pathology with women, I can ensure that the friend finds out enough to worry, and then she will tell Adora she dislikes Catra. And that will help to ward off the infatuation stage. It's all science, David. Nobody is going to get mugged in an alley."

"Okay," David said, still fixated on her breasts. "Are you wearing anything under that jacket?" "If I show you, will you give me a name?" Cynthie said.

"Yes," David said, knowing he was low and weak and not caring.

Cynthie popped the two buttons on her jacket and opened it. Her red silk bra matched the lining of the suit, and her breasts were perfect B cups, high and taut and, from where he sat, real.

"Oh, God," David said, freezing in his seat.

"Damn right," Cynthie said, buttoning back up again. "Now give me the name." "The redhead," David said. "Lonnie. She thinks all men are bastards anyway." "She's right," Cynthie said. "Call Adora for lunch."

Then she left and David watched her go, the afterimage of her perfect breasts imprinted on his retinas, trying to tell himself that he'd done the right thing because somebody had to stop Catra Horde. And save Adora, that was important, too.

"Very hot," his assistant said from the doorway. He sniffed the air. "Wow. Is that her perfume?" "Yes," David said, picking up his phone. "It's brimstone. Don't let her in here again."

At eight that night, Lonnie was sitting with Tony and Roger in The Long Shot waiting for Bonnie and Adora to come back from the bathroom when Tony said, "Uh oh," and turned away from the bar.

"What?" Roger followed his gaze. "Oh." He shrugged. "She's clear across the room."

"She who?" Lonnie squinted through the dim light. A brunette lounged at the bar, looking expensive, lean, and bored while the guy next to her made his pitch. "Old girlfriend?"

"Nope," Tony said as Bonnie came back from the bathroom. "I don't date the insane. Well, not until you."

"Do you date the insane?" Bonnie said to Roger with interest as she sat down. "No, no, Catra, not me," Roger said, almost falling off his chair. "I hardly ever date." "It's all right, baby." Bonnie patted his knee. "You're allowed to date."

"I don't want to date," Roger said and Tony rolled his eyes. "So that's Catra's old girlfriend." Lonnie stood. "I'll be right back."

"Wait a minute," Tony said and caught her arm. "Why do you care about Catra's love life?" "She's dating my best friend," Lonnie said, trying to sound innocent. "I'm curious."

"What I meant by the not-dating thing," Roger said to Bonnie, "was not dating anybody but you." "I really don't expect monogamy on the third date," Bonnie said.

"Okay," Roger said. "But it's here anyway."

"Am I going to have to put a chain on you?" Tony said to Lonnie. He stopped to contemplate that for a moment and then shook his head. "Forget the chains. Stay away from Cynthie. She has psychology on the brain. Probably because she's a psychologist, but still, she comes up with some very whacko stuff."

"Analyzed you, did she?" Lonnie said, looking back across the bar.

"The not-dating-other-people is just for me, of course," Roger said to Bonnie. "You don't have to just date me. Unless you want to."

Tony shook his head. "She has this insane four-steps-to-love theory that she thinks explains all relationships."

"Oh," Lonnie said, taken aback.

"Which is dumb because chaos theory explains relationships," Tony said, tugging her back into her seat. "What?" Lonnie said, trying to pull her arm away.

"Human relationships, like the weather, cannot be predicted," Tony said, holding on, and Lonnie sat down again to relieve the pressure on her arm. "Take, for example, Adora and Catra. Catra's a complex dynamical system who's trying to maintain stability by not dating."

"She's not dating?" Lonnie said.

"No," Tony said. "Can you believe it? That alone is making her unstable. The woman is not good at celibacy. Then she meets Adora, a disturbance in her environment. Catra begins to move at random because of the disturbance, trying to find stability, but she's caught in the field of her attraction, and starts bouncing off the sides of that field at random, never repeating herself but still caught in her pattern. She's the strange attractor."

"Uh huh," Lonnie said. "And what good is all of this?"

Tony leaned closer. "Cynthie thinks relationships follow a pattern and that you can predict them. But how can you? People are complex, the disturbances in their lives are complex, and the attractors in their lives are complex. People in love are pure chaos theory."

"Okay," Lonnie said, still confused.

"That's why Cynthie is crazy," Tony said, letting go of her. "She thinks love can be analyzed and explained. It can't."

Lonnie sat back and considered Tony for the first time. Somehow he didn't look dumb anymore, and it wasn't because of whatever the hell chaos theory was. It was because he was interested in what he was saying. When he cared, he was smart.

"What?" Tony said.

"Have you ever been in love?" Lonnie said.

"No," Tony said. "I don't think it's going to happen." He grinned at her. "It would cause too much disturbance in my environment."

Lonnie frowned. "So why don't you like Cynthie?"

"She tried to pin Catra down. She analyzed her and thought she knew her. Catra deserves better than that. She should be with somebody who's willing to face the chaos. No rules, no conditions, no theories, no safety nets. The way Bonnie is with Roger."

Lonnie looked over at Bonnie, laughing with Roger. "You're right. We all deserve that." "Good," Tony said. "Then you don't have to talk to Cynthie."

Roger said something, and Tony turned away to answer him, and Lonnie got up and went to meet Cynthie. When Lonnie slid into a seat and said, "Hi, I'm Lonnie," Cynthie looked up and did a double take.

"Hi," she said, sounding surprised, almost as if she recognized her. "I'm Cynthie. Do we know each other?"

"No," Lonnie said. "But your ex is dating a friend of mine. Tell me everything you know about Catra Horde."

Fifteen minutes later, Lonnie sat back and thought, Chaos theory, my ass, Catra Horde has a pattern

. "I knew it," she said to Cynthie. "I knew she was going to break her heart. How many times has Catra done this?"

Cynthie shrugged. "I was at a party one night after we broke up, and I started talking to a woman who had dated her, too. Then somebody else drifted over. By the end of the night there were four of us, all the same story. A couple of months, life is good, you think 'she's the one' and then she kisses you on the cheek, says 'Have a nice life,' and she's gone."

"You're kidding," Lonnie said. "And nobody's hunted her down with a tire iron?"

"You can't," Cynthie said. "What are you going to say, 'You dated me for two months, how dare you leave me?' You'd sound demented." She sipped her drink. "And she doesn't do it on purpose," she added, for what must have been the thousandth time.

"You know, I don't care," Lonnie said. "I just don't want her hurting Adora."

"Maybe they're not that serious," Cynthie said. "Do they have anything in common?" "Not that I can tell," Lonnie said.

"Are they relaxed together?"

"No," Lonnie said. "Mostly they fight."

"Do they have shared secrets? In-jokes?"

Lonnie shook her head. "They don't know each other that well."

Cynthie drew her fingertip around her glass. "Do you like her? I mean, have you told Adora you don't like Catra?"

"Hell, yes," Lonnie said. "Bonnie and I have both warned her."

"Hmmm." Cynthie smiled at Lonnie. "Does she have a nickname for her yet?"

"A nickname?" Lonnie tried to remember. "Catra calls her by her last name sometimes. Never anything like 'pookie' or 'baby doll.'"

"How about Adora?" Cynthie said. "Does she have a nickname for Catra?" "The beast," Lonnie said. "I don't think it's affectionate."

Cynthie laughed. "Then why is she dating her?"

"I'm not sure she is," Lonnie said. "But I think she's going to. I think she's falling for Catra even though she doesn't want to."

Cynthie stopped laughing.

"And that worries me," Lonnie said. "She's a terrific person, she doesn't deserve to be dallied with. Can you give me some pointers on how Catra works?"

Cynthie straightened and nodded. "Sure. Has she given her anything yet?"

"Catra's only known her a week," Lonnie said. "I don't. . ." She stopped when Cynthie shook her head.

"If she's serious at all about her, Catra will give her something. She'll find out what Adora wants most, and she'll make sure Adora gets it. She has to, it's this pattern she's fallen into because of her mother."

"Her mother?" Lonnie said.

"She's withholding," Cynthie said. "She only knows conditional love. So she acts out the same pattern with every woman she meets, trying to win her love. And then when she gets it, the pattern breaks because if she loves her, she's not a stand-in for her mother, and Catra moves on, to make somebody else love her."

"She's got an Oedipus complex?" Lonnie said, appalled.

"No," Cynthie said. "She just set up the pattern. Catra's not in love with her." "So that means the more Adora rejects her ..." Lonnie said.

"The more she'll chase her," Cynthie said, all traces of amusement gone. "She can't help it. She doesn't even know she does it.

“Does Adora collect anything?"

"Snow globes," Lonnie said, and then when Cynthie tried to hide her contempt, added, "It's not her fault. It was a family thing that got out of hand."

"She'll buy her a snow globe," Cynthie said. "And it'll be the perfect one, the one she's been missing or always wanted or maybe didn't even know she wanted until Catra gives it to her. And when she does, you get her out fast, or it'll be all over but the weeping."

"Snow globe," Lonnie said, looking back at the table where Catra had joined the group after working late. "Catra's not a bad person," Cynthie said again. "She'd never hurt anyone on purpose. She's just got this ..." "Pathology where she mutilates women because of her mother," Lonnie said.

"I think that was Norman Bates's story, too."

"She'd never hurt her physically," Cynthie said, shocked.

"Well, she's not going to hurt her emotionally either," Lonnie said. "Thank you very much, I appreciate this."

"My pleasure," Cynthie said. Lonnie thought, Your pleasure?, and she must have looked at her oddly, because Cynthie added, "To help. Out. Your friend." She looked down at her drink. "I don't want her to get hurt."

"Me, either," Lonnie said, and headed back to the others.

When she got back to the table, Tony was saying to Adora, "I don't believe it." "Believe it," Adora said. "There are ways you can tell."

"Tell what?" Lonnie said, sitting down beside Tony but keeping an eye on Catra.

"If a guy is worth dating early in the game," Adora said. "We were talking about the old dating tests we used in college."

"Tests," Catra said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"I hate tests." Lonnie said "Like what?" Tony asked Lonnie.

Lonnie shrugged. "Like you ask him over to watch a video." "This is good," Tony said. "Videos are good."

"And you show him Say Anything," Bonnie said. "Chick flick," Tony said.

"You flunked this test before it started," Lonnie said.

Bonnie went on. "And then you wait until he's watching the scene where John Cusack brushes the broken glass out of lone Skye's path."

Lonnie watched Catra grin at Adora, and Adora shake her head at Catra. Secrets, she thought, and straightened a little in her chair.

"And then what?" Tony said.

"And if you say. . ." Bonnie deepened her voice. "’What the hell? She's wearing shoes, ain't she?' you're gone."

"Well, she was," Tony said, exasperated. "But they were open-toed," Roger said.

"You get extra points for noticing they were open-toed," Bonnie told him.

"Great," Tony said. "The guy with the foot fetish gets extra points."

"Okay, dear Adora," Catra said to Adora, "the guy says that and then what happens?"  dear Adora? Lonnie thought and waited for Adora to savage her.

"I become ill with something communicable," Adora said, trying not to smile. "How ill?" Catra said, grinning at her.

Damn it, Lonnie thought.

"There will be retching," Adora said, and grinned back.

"And in your case, I will throw up on your shoes," Lonnie said to Tony, needing to yell at somebody. "What happens to me?" Roger asked Bonnie.

"Wonderful things," Bonnie said, slipping her arm into his.

"I hate you," Tony said to Roger. "You keep fucking up the curve."

Adora laughed, and Catra watched her laugh, and Lonnie thought, Oh, no. She looked like a woman with a goal, and she knew what it was. I catch you with a snow globe, buddy , she thought, and you are dead meat.

Catra glanced over at her and froze. "What?" she said.

"Nothing," Lonnie said and smiled at her with intent. "Nothing at all."

"Who's the lucky woman tonight?" Shanna said when Catra went to the bar for refills.

"No woman," Catra said. "I'm resting. How's Elvis? Still singing 'She' on permanent rotation?"

"Don't knock Elvis. If he was a girl, I'd marry him." She craned her head to look around Catra. "I see the Goon Brothers and two women. Let me guess. The tall skinny redhead is yours."

"No," Catra said. "Refills all around for them, Scotch for me."

Shanna looked past her again. "You're with the little blonde in the blue? She looks vacant to me." "Misleading," Catra said. "But no, not her, either. She's Roger's."

"Then where—" Shanna began.

"Hi," Adora said from behind Catra, and she turned, smiling automatically. "I completely understand your need to flirt with the bartender, but Tony sent me to remind you to hurry."

Shanna leaned over the bar and stuck her hand out to Adora. "Hi, I'm Shanna, Catra's next-door neighbor."

Adora looked surprised but took it. "I'm Adora." She hesitated, and then she leaned over the bar. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Oh, please do," Shanna said, looking deep into her eyes.

"Excuse me?" Catra said, not sure whether she was annoyed or turned on that Shanna was hitting on Adora in front of her.

"You have the most beautiful hair," Adora said, ignoring Catra. "How do you keep it from frizzing?" "I don't wash it," Shanna said. "Just rinse and condition it. It'll never frizz on you again."

"You're kidding," Adora said. "I'm going to try that. I'm so sick of pinning my hair up that I'll try anything." "Well, come back in when you let it down," Shanna said. "I want to see it."

Me, too, Catra thought.

"I will do that," Adora said. "Thank you." She turned back to Catra. "Do you need help carrying the drinks?" "Yes," Catra said before Shanna could say "No" and hand her a tray.

"I'll be right back then," Adora said, and went over to the jukebox.

Catra leaned on the bar as she watched her cross the room. "Get those drinks, babe."

"Tell me she's not yours," Shanna said, watching Adora, too. "The things she could do with that mouth ..."

"The things I could do with that mouth," Catra said. The things i have done with that mouth. She felt a little dizzy again. Well, it was warm in the bar.

"I'll get those drinks," Shanna said and left while Catra watched Adora flip cards on the jukebox. She focused on the gorgeous curve of her neck as she read the song titles. She looked juicy, bitable there, and that set off a whole new train of thought that she told herself was all right as long as she didn't do anything about it.

When Shanna came back with six glasses and mugs on a tray, she said, "So how long have you been seeing her?"

"I met her a week ago, but we're not—"

"Early yet." Shanna nodded. "She's got another month, probably two before you wander off. Tell her nice things about me so I can lay a foundation."

"For what?" Catra said.

"She's going to need comforting when you tell her to have a nice life. I will be that comfort. Are you sleeping with her yet?"

"I'm not even dating her," Catra said as Adora fed some coins into the jukebox and punched in some numbers. "Give me my Scotch. I think we're going to be listening to Elvis Presley and I will need it." "Not dating her, huh? Good news for me." Shanna slid her glass across to her.

Catra shook her head. "No… And you're still grief-stricken, remember?"

"I'm feeling much better," Shanna said, as "The Devil in Disguise" boomed out of the jukebox. "How do you know she doesn't want me?"

"I kissed her. Although she doesn't me."

"No, huh?" Shanna took two fives from her pocket and slapped them on the bar. "I got ten bucks says you can't kiss her again right here."

"No kidding." Catra laughed at the thought of the damage Adora would do to her if she tried. "Also no bet." Shanna tilted her head. "Okay. I got ten bucks says you can kiss her right here."

"I've explained this to you," Catra said. "You have to figure the odds and then take the side that's probable. You don't just flip a coin."

Shanna tapped her finger on the two fives. "Ten says you can do it."

"What's with you?" Catra said. "When did you turn into somebody who likes to watch?" "I'm just—" Shanna began.

"Hey," Adora said, from behind Catra, startling them both. "I thought you weren't going to bet on me anymore."

Catra looked down at her exasperated face. Her lush lower lip stuck out a little, not enough for a pout but enough to remind her of why she'd been staying away from her. "I never said that. Besides, what makes you think I'm—"

"You're both staring at me and there's money on the bar," Adora said. "We've been here before." Her eyes were dark blue, crackling with heat now as she scowled at her, and Catra began to breathe a little faster, remembering.

"She didn't make the bet," Shanna said. "I did. In fact, she—"

Catra took a ten out of her pocket and slapped it on the bar over Shanna's two fives. "You're on," she said, and leaned down to Adora.