He Was Her Man (36 page)

Kitty shook her head. “And?”

“And the two of them were sitting in Jack’s booth having a beer and a chat like old friends.”

“Man-talk?”

“Yep. Swapping lies about who’d lost the most money at the track, football, that kind of stuff.”

“They weren’t duking it out over you, in other words?”

“I don’t even think they’d noticed I was gone. Though, Jack did say, when they finally looked up, that he’d seen Bobby take off with Loydell, and he figured Doc was about to get what was coming to him.”

“How’d you feel about that?”

“Well, Oprah”—Sam held an imaginary microphone out in front of her—“as you can imagine, I felt like dog doo-doo, pardon my French, Harpo, I mean what the
heck
was going on? Wasn’t Harry there because of me? Hadn’t Jack sworn undying affection? And they were talking
baseball
?”

“So you turned on your heel, marched back to the Palace, threw your stuff in a bag, and headed for home?”

“You got it, sport.”

“You heard from either one of them?”

“Both. Multitudinously. Phone calls. Faxes. Telegrams. I expect a helicopter with leaflets any second. Both of ’em pitiful as hell. Seems I overreacted. Misunderstood.”

“And what’d you say?”

“Didn’t say a word. Not answering the phone—or any other form of telecommunication. Don’t plan to answer my door, either.”

“You going to hole up? Get real about writing your book? Become a big-time hermitess?”

“Looks like.”

“I’ve got a hundred dollar bill that says you’ll crack in less than a week. Furthermore, you’ll come crying to me, Which one should I choose?”

“A
real
hundred?”

“Genuine.”

Sam stuck out her hand. “You’re on.”

They swung silently for a few minutes, listening to the birds, the frogs in the bayou that flowed behind Sam’s old house on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. The cumulus clouds blowing in from the Gulf were like gigantic puffs of whipped cream—which reminded Sam of Jack and that night in her hotel room. On the other hand, she and Harry had done some world-class smooching in this very porch swing.

Sam took another long drag on her iced tea. Then she said, “So, what do you think?”

“It’s a tough choice. Very tough. You could make one of those lists. Line up all the pros and cons. Harry vs. Jack. Both have a lot to recommend them. Of course, you have a history with Harry. But then, he done you wrong. Jack, on the other hand…”

“I could. I could do that. Or I could just flip.”

Kitty pulled a quarter from her pocket. “Call it, girlfriend.”

“Heads, Harry. Tails, Jack.”

Kitty tossed the silver coin high into the warm afternoon air, where it caught the kiss of the sun before it landed on the sky blue floor of the old wooden porch and rolled and twirled and spun and whirled in slower and slower circles until it ran out of steam and came to a stop.