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He ruffled her hair, knowing she wasn't going back on the air. “Want to go out for a hamburger before you go home?”

“I'd better not. I should be getting home to the girls.”

“Those two.” He rolled his eyes, knowing them well. He had three daughters of his own, from three different wives, but none of them twins, or quite as adventurous as Mel's two girls. “What are they up to these days?”

“The usual. Val has been in love four times this week, and Jess is working on straight A's. Their combined efforts are defying all my efforts to remain a redhead, and giving me gray hair.” She had just turned thirty-five, but she looked as though a decade of that had gotten lost somewhere. She looked nowhere near her age, despite the responsibilities she bore, the job which weighed heavily on her at times, but which she loved, and the assorted crises that had come through her life over the years. Grant knew most of them, and she had cried on his shoulder more than once, about a disappointment at work, or a shattered love affair. There hadn't been too many of those, she was cautious about whom she saw, and careful too about keeping her private life out of the public eye, but more than that she was gun-shy about getting involved after being abandoned by the twins' father before they were born. He had told her he hadn't wanted kids, and he had meant every word he said. They had married right out of high school and gone to Columbia at the same time, but when she told him she was pregnant, he didn't want to hear.

“Get rid of it.” His face had been rock hard, and Mel still remembered his tone.

“I won't. It's our child … that's wrong …”

“It's a lot more wrong to screw up our lives.” So instead he had tried to screw up hers. He had gone to Mexico on vacation with another girl, and when he came back he announced that they were divorced. He had forged her signature on the forms, and she was so shocked that she didn't know what to say. Her parents wanted her to fight back, but she didn't think that she could. She was too hurt by what he'd done, and too overwhelmed at the prospect of being alone for the birth of her child … which then turned out to be two. Her parents had helped her for a while, and then she had gone out on her own, struggled to find a job, and done everything she could from secretarial work to door-to-door sales for a vitamin firm. At last she had wound up as a receptionist for a television network, and eventually she had wound up in a pool of secretaries typing up pieces for the news.

The twins had thrived through it all, though Mel's climb hadn't been easy or quick, but day after day, typing what other people wrote, she knew what she wanted to do. The political pieces were the ones that interested her most, reminiscent of her college days before her whole life had changed. And what she wanted was to become a writer for the news. She applied countless times for the job, and eventually understood that it wouldn't happen for her in New York. She went first to Buffalo, then Chicago, and at last back to New York, finally getting work as a writer for the news. Until a major strike, when suddenly management looked at her and someone jerked a thumb toward the set. She was horrified, but she had no choice. It was either do what they said, or get her ass canned, and she couldn't afford that. She had two little girls to support, their father had never contributed ten cents and had gone on his merry way, leaving Mel to cope alone. And she had. But all she wanted was enough for them, she had no dreams of glory, no aching desire to deliver the stories she wrote herself, and yet suddenly there she was, on TV, and the funny thing was, it felt good.

They farmed her out to Philadelphia after that, and back to Chicago again for a while, Washington, D.C., and at last home. In their estimation, she had been properly groomed, and they weren't far wrong. She was damn good. Powerful and interesting, and strong, and beautiful to watch on the air. She seemed to combine honesty with compassion and brains to such an extent that at times one actually forgot her striking looks. And at twenty-eight she was near the top, coanchoring the evening news. At thirty, she broke her contract and moved to another show, and suddenly there she was. Sole anchor, delivering the evening news. The ratings soared and they hadn't stopped since.

She had worked like a dog since then, and her reputation as a top newswoman was well deserved. What's more, she was well liked. She was secure now. The hungry days were long gone, the juggling, the struggling, her parents would have been desperately proud, had they still been alive, and she wondered now and then what the twins' father thought, if he regretted what he'd done, if he even cared. She had never heard from him again. But he had left his mark on her, a mark that had dulled, but never quite been erased over the years. A mark of caution, if not pain, a fear of getting too close, of believing too much, of holding anyone too dear … except the twins. It had led her into some unfortunate affairs, with men who were taken with who she was, or used her cool distance to play around, and the last time around with a married man. At first, to Mel, he had seemed ideal, he didn't want anything more than she did. She never wanted to marry again. She had everything she wanted on her own: success, security, her kids, a house she loved. “What do I need marriage for?” she had said to Grant, and he had maintained a skeptical view.

“Maybe you don't, but at least get yourself someone who's free.” He had been insistent and firm.

“Why? What difference does it make?”

“The difference it will make, my friend, is that you'll wind up spending Christmas and holidays and birthdays and weekends alone, while he sits around happily with his wife and kids.”

“Maybe so. But I'm special to him. I'm the caviar, not the sour cream.”

“You're dead wrong, Mel. You'll get hurt.” And he had been right. She had. Eventually it all began to cause her pain for just the reasons he had feared and there had been a terrible parting in the end, with Melanie looking gaunt and drawn for weeks. “Next time, listen to Uncle Grant. I know.” He knew a great deal, mostly about how carefully she had built walls around herself. He had known her for almost ten years. They had met while she was on the way up, and he had known then that he was watching a bright new star rise in the heavens of television news, but more than that, he cared about her, as a human being and a friend. He cared enough not to want to spoil what they had. They had been both careful never to get involved with each other. He had been married three times, he had a stable of “temporaries” he enjoyed spending his nights with, but Mel was much more than that to him. She was his friend, and he was hers, and with Mel it was important not to betray that trust. She had been betrayed before, and he never wanted to be the one to hurt her again. “The truth is, love, most men are shits.” He had confessed to her late one night after interviewing her on his show, which had been a real kick. And afterward they had gone out for a drink, and sat around at Elaine's until three
A.M.

“What makes you say that?” There had suddenly been something distant and cautious in her eyes. She knew one who had been, but it was grim to think that they all were.

“Because damn few want to give as good as they get. They want a woman to love them with her whole heart and soul, but they keep an important piece to themselves. What you need is a man who'll give you as much love as you have to give.”

“What makes you think I have that much love left?” She tried to look amused, but he wasn't convinced. The old hurt was still there, distant, but not gone. He wondered if it ever would be.

“I know you too well, Mel. Better than you know yourself.”

“And you think I'm pining to find the right man?” This time she laughed and he smiled.

“No. I think you're scared to death you will.”

“Touché.”

“It might do you good.”

“Why? I'm happy by myself.”

“Horseshit. No one is. Not really.”

“I have the twins.”

“That is
not
the same thing.”

She shrugged. “You're happy alone.” She searched his eyes, not sure what she'd find, and was surprised to see a trace of loneliness there. It came out at night, like a werewolf he hid by day. Even the illustrious Grant was human too.

“If I were so happy alone, I wouldn't have married three times.” They both laughed at that, the evening wore on, and eventually he dropped her at her front door with a fatherly peck on the cheek. Once in a while she wondered what it would be like to get involved with him, but she knew it would spoil what they had, and they both wanted to avoid that. It was too good like this.

And in the corridor outside her office, she looked up at him now, tired, but relieved to see his face at the end of a long day. He gave her something no one else did. The twins were still young enough to take from her, they had a constant need, for attention, for love, for discipline, limits, new ice skates, designer jeans. But he put something back in her soul, and there was really no one else who did.

“I'll take a rain check on that hamburger tomorrow night.”

“Can't.” He shook his head with regret. “I've got a hot date with a sensational pair of boobs.”

She rolled her eyes and he grinned. “You are without a doubt the most sexist man I know.”

“Yup.”

“And proud of it too.”

“You're damn right.”

She smiled and looked at her watch. “I'd better get my ass home, or Raquel will lock me out, tyrant that she is.” She had had the same housekeeper for the last seven years. Raquel was a godsend with the girls, but she ran a tight ship. She was inordinately fond of Grant, and had tried to press Mel into a relationship with him for years.

“Give Raquel my love.”

“I'll tell her it was your fault I'm late.”

“Fine, and I'll give you that list of cardiac surgeons tomorrow. Will you be around?”

“I'll be here.”

“I'll call.”

“Thanks.” She blew him a kiss, and he went his way, as she stepped into her office and picked up her bag with a quick look at her watch. It was seven thirty and Raquel was going to have a fit. She hurried downstairs and hailed a cab and in fifteen minutes the driver turned into Seventy-ninth Street.

“I'm home!” She called out into the silence, passing through the front hall. It was done in delicate flowered wallpaper and there was a white marble floor. From the moment one walked in, one sensed the friendly, elegant mood of the place, and from the bright colors, big bouquets of flowers, and touches of yellow and pastel everywhere, one had an instant feeling of good cheer. The house always amused Grant Buckley. It was so obviously a woman's house. One would have to begin decorating from scratch were a man to make his home there. There was a big antique hat rack in the front hall, covered with Mel's hats and the favorites left there by the two girls.

The living room was done in a soft peach, with silky deep couches that invited one to be swallowed up, and delicate moirî curtains that hung in lush folds with French tiebacks, and the walls were painted the same delicate peach shade, with creamy trim on the moldings and delicate pastel paintings everywhere. As Melanie sank down now into the couch with a contented sigh, it was the perfect setting for her with her creamy skin and her flaming red hair. Her bedroom was done in soft blues, in watered silks, the dining room was white, the kitchen orange and yellow and blue. Melanie's home had a happy feeling that made one want to wander around and hang out. It was elegant, but not too, chic but no so much so that one was afraid to sit down.

It was a small house, but perfect for them, with the living room, dining room, and kitchen on the main floor, Mel's bedroom, study, and dressing room were one flight up, and above that were two big sunny bedrooms for the two girls. There wasn't an inch of unused space, and even one extra body in the house would have seemed like too much. But just for them, it was exactly the right size, as Melanie had known it would be when she'd first seen it and fallen in love with it the same day.

She walked hurriedly up the stairs to the girls' rooms, faintly aware of an ache in her back. It had been a hell of a long day. She didn't stop in her own room, knowing already what would be there, a stack of mail she didn't want to see, mostly bills relating to the girls, and an assortment of other things. But that didn't interest her now. She wanted to see the twins.

On the third floor, she found both their doors closed, but the music was so loud, she could already feel her heart pound halfway up the stairs.

“Good God, Jess!” Melanie shouted above the din. “Turn that thing down!”

“What?” The tall, skinny redheaded girl turned toward the door from where she lay on her bed. There were schoolbooks spread all around, and she had the telephone pressed to her ear. She waved to her mother, and went on talking on the phone.

“Don't you have exams?” A silent nod, and Melanie's face began to look grim. Jessica was always the more serious of the twins, but lately she had been losing ground in school. She was bored, and the romance she'd had all year had just gone down the tubes, but that was no excuse, and she still had to study for her exams, even more so now. “Come on, hang up, Jess.” She stood leaning against the desk, arms crossed, and Jessica looked vaguely annoyed, said something unintelligible into the phone, and hung up, looking at her mother as though she were not only overly demanding but rude. “Now turn that thing down.”

She unwound the long coltlike legs from the bed, and walked to the stereo, flinging her long coppery mane over her shoulders. “I was just taking a break.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, for chrissake. What do I have to do now? Punch a time clock for you?”

“That's not fair, Jess. You can have all the leeway you need. But the fact is, your last grades …”

“I know, I know. How long do I have to hear about that?”

“Until they improve.” Melanin looked unimpressed by her daughter's speech. Jessica had been testy since the end of the romance with a young man named John. It was probably what had affected her grades, and for Jessica that was a first. But Melanie already sensed that things were on their way back up. She just didn't want to let Jessica off the hook yet, not till she was sure. “How was your day?” She slipped an arm around her daughter's shoulders and stroked her hair. The music had been turned off, and the room seemed strangely still.