nd
elegant, white but tinged with the sadness of departing light; there
were babies in it and the silver of moonlight on old barns. "Some
dress!" Her breasts moved toward him.

"Would you like something to drink?" Claudine's voice straightened him.

"Can you make a martini?" Jacky asked.

"I'll try." Claudine glanced at Oliver, amused.

"Dry, please. One olive." The door opened and George Goodbean entered.
He was thinking about something and didn't notice them until he was
passing their table.

"Holy Moly!" he said, looking at Jacky.

Oliver introduced them. "Holy Moly means he wants to paint you," he
said to Jacky.

"Really," George said. "Who wouldn't?" He threw his arms in the air.
Claudine dodged around him and set a martini in front of Jacky.

"Perhaps we can talk about it another time," she said, smiling.

"Yes," George said. "Yes." He walked up the stairs to the upper level.

"He's been known to burst into arias," Oliver said.

Jacky sipped her martini. "Ah . . ." She put the glass down carefully.
"I like him."

"He's a good guy," Oliver said. "Good painter." He told her about the
casting adventure, leaving out the bronze valentine.

Midway through dinner, Jacky reminded him of their last session on her
bed. "That was very special," she said. "You please me in so many ways,
Oliver." She put down her fork. "I've been transferred. That's why I
was in such a bad mood that night. We acquired a bank. I'm supposed to
run it, turn it around. I thought I could get out of it, but I
couldn't."

"Transferred?"

"Maryland," she said. "It's a promotion, really."

"Oh," Oliver said. He put down his fork. "Damn."

"Come with me." It was part command, part question.

"No--I can't." He knew it was true as soon as he said the words. Am I
crazy? he thought, looking at her closely. "It is you who are
beautiful," he said.

She tapped the fingers of one hand on the table. "Are you sure, Oliver?
Money is no problem." He nodded slowly.

"Oh, Oliver . . ." She brushed away a tear. He had never seen her cry.
"Oh." She shook her head. "Who trains who?" she asked the window in a
tight voice. Oliver swallowed. He couldn't speak. This was happening
too fast.

"Sex," she said, looking back at him. "There's sex and there's
love--two different things. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes, if
you're real lucky, they overlap a lot. Most people settle for a little
of one or a little of the other." She pushed her chair bac