Ren took a step backward as the girls hurled themselves at his legs, their giggles shrill enough to cut glass. Only the boy held back.

Isabel felt light-headed. Daddy? Ren had never said a thing about having children. He’d admitted to a short-term marriage when he was young, but three children didn’t look short-term to her.

She glanced up and saw a woman appear at the top of the hill. She stood silhouetted against the sky, a toddler in her arms, the breeze plastering the skirt of her cotton dress to her very pregnant belly.

“Daddy! Daddy! Did you miss us?” the older girl shrieked in American English, while the younger collapsed in giggles.

Ren jerked away as if the children were radioactive and gazed at Isabel with something that looked like panic. “I swear to God, I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

Isabel tilted her head toward the top of the hill. “Maybe you’d better tell her that.”

Ren looked up.

The woman waved, her long dark hair fluttering in the breeze. “Hey, lover!”

He shielded his eyes. “Tracy? Damn it, Tracy, is that you?”

“You said ‘damn.’ “ The youngest girl, who looked to be around four or five, butted his legs.

“He’s allowed to, you dope,” the boy said.

“You can back off now, kids,” the woman called down. “We’ve terrified him enough.”

“He looks mad, Mom,” the younger girl said. “Are you mad, mister?”

“You’d better watch out,” the boy declared. “He kills people. Even girls. He cuts out people’s eyeballs, don’t you?”

“Jeremy Briggs!” the woman exclaimed without moving from her perch at the top of the hill. “You know you’re not allowed to see R movies.”

“It was PG-thirteen.”

“You’re eleven!”

Isabel turned on Ren. “You cut out someone’s eyeballs in a PG-thirteen movie? Nice going.”

He gave her a glare that suggested the next eyeballs he cut out might belong to her.

“Whadja do with them?” the littlest girl asked. “Didja eat ’em? I hurted my pee-pee on the airplane.”

The two older children snickered, while Ren turned pale.

“I hurted it on the seat arm,” she continued, unfazed. “Wanna see my dolphin panties?”

“No!”

But she’d already raised the skirt of her checked sundress. “I got whales, too,” she pointed out.

“Very pretty.” Isabel was beginning to enjoy herself. Watching Mr. 2-Kool twitch was the most fun she’d had all day. “Surely you’ve seen whales on a lady’s undergarments before, Ren.”

His dark eyebrows slammed together in one of his trademark scowls.

The children’s mother shifted the toddler to her other hip. “The only way I can make it down that hill is on my backside, so you’d better come up here. Brittany, put those panties back on. Your body’s private, remember?”

Sure enough, the dark-haired cherub had stripped down with all the cool of a table dancer. Ren took one look, then shot up the hill as if both Denzel and Mel were after him. The boy began to follow, then changed his mind and headed for the Maserati parked near the farmhouse.

“You got any dolphins?” the cherub asked Isabel.

“Brit’ny, that’s not polite,” her sister said.

Isabel smiled at both girls and helped the little one back on with her panties. “No dolphins. Just some tan lace.”

“Can I see?”

“I’m afraid not. Your mother’s right about bodies being private.” Which was another good reason not to share hers with Ren Gage, although he hadn’t mentioned sex all afternoon. Maybe he’d decided she was too much work. Or maybe, like Michael, he’d simply decided she was too much of everything.

With Brittany’s clothes back in place, Isabel took the girls’ hands and steered them up the hill before she missed any more of the conversation that had just started to take place there. She noticed that Ren’s doomsday scowl hadn’t detracted one bit from those hearts-afire good looks.

“I must have missed your phone call telling me you were coming, Tracy.”

The woman rose on her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Well, hello to you, too.”

Her silky dark hair fell to her shoulders in a tumble. Her skin was Snow White pale, her bright blue eyes slightly tilted and shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept well for a while. She wore a rumpled but fashionable scarlet maternity dress and pricey low-heeled sandals. Her toenails were unpolished and her sandals run over ever so slightly at the heels. Something about the way she held herself combined with the careless manner in which she wore her clothes screamed old money.

“Daddy!” The toddler in her arms squealed and held out his arms to Ren, who backed up so fast he bumped into Isabel.

“Relax,” Tracy said. “He calls every man that.”

“Well, make him stop. And what kind of mother tells her kids to do something perverted like running up to a stranger and calling him . . . that word they called me?”

“I take my amusements where I can find them. It cost me five bucks a kid.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“I enjoyed it.” She regarded Isabel with interest. Her pregnant belly and exotic eyes made her look like a goddess of sexuality and fertility. Isabel began to feel a little withered. At the same time she sensed an air of sadness lurking behind the woman’s lighthearted tone.

“I’m Tracy Briggs.” She held out her hand. “You look familiar.”

“Isabel Favor.”

“Of course you are. Now I recognize you.” She gazed at them both with open curiosity. “What are you doing with him?”

“I’m renting the farmhouse. Ren is my landlord.”

“No kidding.” Her expression indicated she didn’t believe a word of it. “I only read one of your books—Healthy Relationships in Unhealthy Times—but I liked it a lot. I’ve . . .” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ve been trying to get my head together about leaving Harry.”

“Tell me you’re not running away from another husband,” Ren said.

“I’ve only had two.” She turned to Isabel. “Ren’s still mad because I left him. Just between us, he was a terrible husband.”

So this was Ren’s ex-wife. One thing seemed clear. Whatever sparks had once burned between them had gone out. Isabel felt as if she were watching a brother and sister bicker, instead of former lovers.

“We got married when we were twenty and stupid,” Ren said. “What does anybody that young know about being married?”

“I knew more than you.” Tracy nodded down the hill toward her son, who’d climbed into the front seat of Ren’s Maserati. “That’s Jeremy, my oldest. Steffie’s next. She’s eight.” Steffie had a pixie cut and a vaguely anxious air. She and her sister had begun drawing circles in the gravel with the heels of their sandals. “Brittany’s five. And this is Connor. He just turned three, but he still won’t use the potty, will you, big guy?” She smacked the toddler’s fat diaper, then patted her own swollen belly. “Connor was supposed to be our caboose. Surprise, surprise.”

“Five kids, Trace?” Ren said.

“Stuff happens.” Once again she bit her lip.

“Didn’t you only have three when we talked a month ago?”

“It was two months ago, and I had four. You never pay attention when I talk about them.”

Steffie, the eight-year-old, let out a piercing shriek. “Spider! There’s a spider!”

“ ‘Snot a spider.” Brittany crouched down in the gravel.

“Jeremy! Get out of that—”

But Tracy’s command came too late. The Maserati, with her son inside, had already begun to roll.

Ren started to run. He made it to the bottom of the hill just in time to watch his expensive sports car crunch into the side of the farmhouse, where the front end folded like an origami bird.

Isabel had to give him credit. He dragged Jeremy out of the car and checked to make sure the eleven-year-old wasn’t hurt before he inspected the damage. Tracy, in the meantime, was waddling down the hill—pregnant belly, toddler, and all. Isabel hurried to grab her arm before she fell, and they managed to reach Ren and Jeremy without mishap.

“Jeremy Briggs! How many times have I told you to leave other people’s cars alone! You just wait till your father hears about this.” Tracy took a couple of gulps of air, then seemed to run out of steam. Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Spider!” Steffie howled from the hill behind them.

The toddler noticed his mother’s distress and started to cry.

“Spider! Spider!” Steffie yowled.

Ren looked over at Isabel, his expression comically helpless.

“Hey, Mr. Ren!” Brittany called down from the top of the hill. “Look at me!” She waved her panties like a flag. “I got seahorses, too.”

Tracy let out a noisy sob, then reached out and whacked Ren in the chest. “Now do you see why we’re moving in?”

 

“She can’t do this!” Ren stopped pacing long enough to spin on Isabel as if this were all her fault. They were in the rear salon at the villa with the doors open to the garden and children running everywhere. Only Anna seemed happy. She laughed over the girls, rubbed Jeremy’s head, picked up the toddler, and set off to the kitchen with him to prepare dinner for everyone.

“Go upstairs and tell Tracy to leave!”

“Somehow I don’t think she’ll listen.” Isabel wondered when he’d figure out that he was fighting a losing battle. The characters he played on-screen might be able to evict a pregnant woman and her four children, but in real life Ren seemed like a softer touch. That didn’t mean, however, that he intended to be gracious about it.

“We haven’t been married for fourteen years. She can’t just move in here with all these kids.”

“She seems to have done it.”

“You heard me try to book a hotel for her, but she grabbed the receiver out of my hand and hung up.”

Isabel patted Steffie’s shoulder. “That’s enough bug spray, honey. Let me have the can before you give us all cancer.”

Steffie reluctantly handed it over, then looked apprehensively around her feet for more spiders.

Ren growled down at the eight-year-old girl. “It’s September. Shouldn’t all of you be in school?”

“Mom’s homeschooling us till we get back home to Connecticut.”

“Your mother can barely add.”

“She adds okay, but she has trouble with long division, so Jeremy and I have to help her.” Steffie walked over to the couch and gingerly lifted the pillow to look beneath it before she sat down. “Could I have my bug spray back, please?”

Isabel’s heart turned over for the little girl. She stealthily passed the can to Ren, then sat beside her and drew her into a hug. “You know, Steffie, the things we think we’re afraid of aren’t always what’s really bothering us. Like spiders. Most of them are pretty friendly insects, but a lot has happened in your family lately, and that might be what’s really worrying you. We all feel afraid sometimes. It’s okay.”

Ren muttered something that was definitely not okay. As Isabel continued talking softly with Steffie, she spied Jeremy through the French doors grimly slamming a tennis ball against the side of the villa. It was only a matter of time before he broke a window.

“Everybody, watch me!” Brittany shot into the room and threw herself into a series of cartwheels, heading straight for a cabinet filled with Meissen porcelain.

“Watch out!” Ren rushed forward and caught her just before she crashed.

“Look on the bright side,” Isabel said. “She’s wearing her panties.”

“But she’s taken off everything else!”

“I’m the champ!” The five-year-old leaped to her feet and extended her arms in a victory V. Isabel smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. Just then the air was filled with the unmistakable sound of breaking glass, followed by Tracy’s shriek from upstairs: “Jeremy Briggs!”

Ren turned the can of bug spray to his head and pressed the valve.

 

It was a long evening. Ren threatened to cut off Isabel’s electricity forever if she abandoned him, so she stayed at the villa while Tracy remained locked in her room. Jeremy entertained himself by torturing Steffie with phantom spiders, Brittany hid her clothes, and Ren complained the entire time. Everywhere he went, he left clutter behind him—sunglasses, discarded shoes, a sweatshirt—the debris of a man accustomed to having servants pick up after him.

With the appearance of the children, Anna underwent a personality transformation, laughing and plying everyone with food, even Isabel. She and Massimo lived in a house about a mile away with their two grown sons and a daughter-in-law. Since she’d be going home after dinner, she asked Marta to come up from the farmhouse to spend the night. Marta, too, seemed like a different woman in the presence of the children.

Anna quickly adopted Connor as her special pet, and he stayed at her side except when he disappeared into a corner to load his diaper. The three-year-old, Isabel had learned, already had an excellent vocabulary. His favorite expression was “Potty is very, very bad.”

Even though Ren gave the girls no encouragement, they badgered him for attention. He ignored them as much as he could but finally gave in to Jeremy’s pleas to teach him some martial-arts moves. It was well after dark before they were all tucked into bed.

Isabel managed to slip away to the farmhouse while Ren was on the phone. She tumbled into bed and fell instantly asleep, only to be awakened at one in the morning by a crash followed by a curse. She bolted upright in bed.

The light snapped on in the hall, and Ren poked his head in. “Sorry. I banged my duffel against the chest and knocked over a lamp.”

She blinked and pulled the sheet to her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t seriously believe I’m staying up there, do you?” He bristled with indignation.

“Well, you can’t move in here.”

“Watch me.” He disappeared.

She shot out of bed, her silk gown fluttering behind her as she went after him.

He’d thrown his duffel on the bed in the next room, which was smaller than her own room but just as plain. The gregarious Italians didn’t believe in wasting their decorating money on solitary spaces like bedrooms when they could spend it on the kitchens and gardens that were their gathering places. As she rushed in, he stopped unpacking long enough to take in the ivory lace bodice that clung to her breasts and the delicate, ankle-length skirt. “You got any dolphins under that?”

“None of your business. Ren, the villa’s huge, and this house is small. You can’t—”

“Not huge enough. If you think I’m staying under the same roof with a nutty pregnant woman and her four psycho kids, you’re crazier than they are.”

“Then go somewhere else.”

“Exactly what I’m doing.” Once again his eyes went on an exploratory mission. She waited for him to say something provocative, but he surprised her. “I appreciate the way you stuck around tonight, although I could have done without those lists you kept shoving at me.”

“You threatened to turn off my electricity if I left.”

“You can’t fool me, Doc. You’d have stayed anyway, because you’re a sucker for cleaning up other people’s messes.” He pulled out a messy stack of T-shirts. “That’s probably why you like hanging around with me, except in my case you’re fighting a losing battle.”

“I don’t like hanging around with you. I’m forced to hang around with you. Okay, maybe I like it a little bit.” Her fingers itched to pick up the T-shirt he’d just dropped to the floor, but she resisted. “You can sleep here tonight, but tomorrow you’re moving back into the villa. I have work to do, and you’ll only get in the way.”

He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his ankles, his gaze traveling from her ankles to her breasts. “Too big a distraction for you, right?”

Her skin grew warm. He was the devil incarnate. This was the way he lured women to their deaths. “Let’s just say I need to concentrate on the spiritual at the moment.”

“You do that.” He gave her his most sinister smile. “And don’t even think about what happened to Jennifer Lopez when she slept in the room next to mine.”

She shot him a look that told him exactly how infantile she thought he was, and swept past him. Just as she got to the hallway, she noticed the small lamp sitting on the chest directly in front of her. Even before she heard his evil chuckle, she knew he could see right through her nightgown.

“Definitely no dolphins. You’re killing me, Fifi.”

“A distinct possibility.”

 

The next morning Isabel made a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for herself and carried it out to one of the blue metal chairs that sat in a sunny spot near the house. Dew still clung to the leaves of the olive trees, and a few stray ribbons of mist drifted in the valley below. She uttered a little prayer of gratitude—the least she could do—and began to take her first sip of juice just as Ren emerged from the house in all his rumpled glory.

“Had to get up early today so I could run before it gets too hot.” He yawned.

“It’s nearly nine.”

“That’s what I mean.”

She set down the orange juice and watched the hem of his gray sleeveless T-shirt rise as he began to stretch. His stomach rippled with hard muscle, and a thin line of dark hair disappeared into a pair of black running shorts. She drank in every inch of him—cheekbones, pirate’s stubble, athlete’s chest, and all.

He caught her watching him. As he crossed his arms over his chest, she could see that he was already enjoying himself. “Do you want me to turn around so you can get the back view?”

She retaliated with her shrink voice. “Do you think I want you to turn around?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Being so dazzling must be difficult. You never know whether people want to be with you because of your character or only because of your appearance.”

“Definitely appearance. I have no character.”

She couldn’t let that pass. “You have a very strong character. Most of it is twisted, true, but not all of it.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

And wasn’t it a miracle how a good night’s sleep could increase a woman’s capacity to annoy? She imitated his oily smile. “Would you mind turning to the side so I can enjoy your profile?”

“Stop being a wise-ass.” He collapsed in the chair next to her, where he drained the glass of juice she’d taken ten minutes to squeeze.

She frowned. “I thought you were going for a run.”

“Don’t rush me. Tell me none of Tracy’s little monsters have shown up here.”

“Not yet.”

“They’re smart little buggers. They’ll find us. And you’re going up there with me after I get cleaned up, so you can be there while I have it out with her. I’ve decided to tell her you’re recovering from a nervous breakdown, and you need peace and quiet. Then I’m loading everybody up in that Volvo she’s driving, and sending them on their way to a great hotel, all expenses paid.”

Somehow Isabel didn’t think it would be that easy. “How did she find you?”

“She knows my agent.”

“She’s an interesting woman. How long did you say you were married?”

“One miserable year. Our mothers were friends, so we grew up together, got into trouble together, and also managed to flunk out of college at the same time. Since we didn’t want to get kicked off the parental gravy train and actually have to work for a living, we decided to get married to divert their attention.” He set down the empty glass. “Do you have any idea what happens when two spoiled brats get married?”

“Nothing pleasant, I’m sure.”

“Door slamming, temper tantrums, hair pulling. And she was even worse.”

Isabel laughed.

“She got remarried two years after our divorce. I’ve seen her a couple of times when she’s come out to L.A., and we talk every few months.”

“An unusual relationship for a divorced couple.”

“For a few years afterward we didn’t talk at all, but neither of us has any brothers or sisters. Her father died, and her mother’s a nutcase. I guess nostalgia for our dysfunctional childhoods keeps us in contact more than anything else.”

“You’d never seen her children or her husband?”

“I saw the two older ones when they were little. Never met her husband. One of those corporate types. He sounds like a real stiff.” He moved his weight to one hip, withdrew a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his shorts, and flipped it open. “I found this in the kitchen. You want to explain?”

She must possess a subconscious desire to be tortured, or she’d never have left that lying around. “Give it to me.”

Naturally he held it just out of her reach. “You need me even worse than I thought.” He began to read from the schedule she’d drawn up her first day here. “ ‘Get up at six o’clock.’ Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“I don’t, apparently, because I’ve only been up since eight.”

“ ‘Prayer, meditation, gratitude, and daily affirmations,’ “ he went on. “What’s a daily affirmation? No, don’t tell me.”

“Affirmations are positive statements. A benevolent kind of thought control. For example, here’s one: ‘No matter how much Lorenzo Gage annoys me, I’ll remember that he, too, is one of God’s creatures.’ Not God’s best work perhaps, but . . .”

“And what’s this ‘Remember to breathe’ crap?”

“It’s not crap. It’s a reminder to stay centered.”

“Whatever that means.”

“It means staying calm. Refusing to be buffeted by every gust of wind that blows your way.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Sometimes boring is good.”

“Uh-huh.” He tapped the page. “ ‘Inspirational reading.’ Like People?”

She let him have his fun.

“ ‘Be impulsive.’ “ He arched one of those exquisite eyebrows. “That’s gonna happen. And according to this schedule you should be writing now.”

“I’m planning.” She fiddled with the button on her blouse.

He folded the list and zeroed in on her with eyes that were far too perceptive. “You don’t have a clue what you’re going to write about next, do you?”

“I’m starting to make notes for a new book.”

“About what?”

“Overcoming personal crisis.” It was the first thing that popped into her head, and it seemed a logical choice.

“You’re kidding.”

His expression of disbelief made her testy. “I do know something about it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m overcoming my own.”

“I must have missed that part.”

“That’s your problem. You miss a lot.”

His irritating sympathy was back. “Stop pushing so hard, Isabel. Take some time off, and don’t try to force everything. Relax and have a little fun for a change.”

“And how would I do that? Oh, wait, I know. By going to bed with you, right?”

“That’d be my choice, but I guess everyone has a different idea of entertainment, so you can pick your own. No, on second thought, it’ll work out better for both of us if you let me do the picking.”

“Time’s a-wasting if you’re going for that run.”

He settled deeper into the chair. “You’ve been through a lot these past six months. Don’t you think you deserve a little breathing room?”

“The IRS wiped me out. I can’t afford breathing room. I have to get my career back on track so I can earn a living, and the only way I can do that is to work at it.” Even as she said it, she could feel little fingernails of panic trying to dig into her.

“There’s more than one way to work.”

“Your suggestion would be to do it on my back, right?”

“You can get on top if you want.”

She sighed.

He rose from the chair and turned toward the olive orchard. “What are Massimo and Giancarlo doing down there?”

“Something about a new sewer or a well, depending on the translation.”

He yawned again. “I’m going for my run, and then we’re both talking to Tracy. And don’t argue unless you want the untimely death of a pregnant woman and her four obnoxious kids on your conscience.”

“Oh, I’m not going to argue. I wouldn’t miss watching you go up in flames for the world.”

He scowled at her and took off.

An hour later she was changing the sheets on her bed when she heard him return and disappear into the bathroom. She smiled and crept to the door. It wasn’t long before she heard him yowl.

“I forgot to tell you,” she called out sweetly. “We don’t have any hot water.”

 

Tracy stood in the middle of the bedroom she’d taken over. Suitcases, clothes, and assorted toys littered the floor around her. While Ren leaned against the wall frowning at both of them, Isabel began separating the dirty clothes from the clean.

“Do you see why I divorced him?” Tracy looked red-eyed and tired, but still luscious in a mulberry bathing suit and matching cover-up. Isabel wondered how it felt to have such effortless beauty. Tracy and Ren were a matched set.

“He’s a cold, unfeeling son of a bitch. That’s why I divorced him.”

“I’m not unfeeling.” Ren definitely sounded unfeeling. “But I told you, with Isabel’s delicate nervous condition . . .”

“Do you have a delicate nervous condition, Isabel?”

“Not unless you count a major life crisis.” She dropped a T-shirt into the dirty pile, then began refolding a stack of clean underwear. The children were in the kitchen with Anna and Marta, but much like Ren, they’d left signs of their presence everywhere.

“Are the kids bothering you?” Tracy asked.

“They’re terrific. I’m enjoying them very much.” Isabel wondered if Tracy understood that her children’s various behavior problems were almost certainly rooted in the tension they’d picked up from their parents.

“That’s not the point,” Ren said. “The point is that you barged in here without any warning and—”

“Will you think about someone other than yourself for once?” Tracy threw down a GameBoy, disturbing Isabel’s carefully folded pile. “I can’t lock up four active children in a hotel room.”

“Suite! I’ll get you a suite.”

“And you’re my oldest friend. If a person’s oldest friend won’t help her when she’s in trouble, who will?”

“Newer friends. Your parents. What about your cousin Petrina?”

“I’ve detested Petrina ever since we were debutantes. Don’t you remember how she tried to hit on you? Besides, none of those people happen to be in Europe right now.”

“Which is another reason you should fly home. I’m no expert on pregnant women, but I understand they need familiar surroundings.”

“Maybe in the eighteenth century.” Tracy made a helpless gesture toward Isabel. “Could you recommend a good therapist? Twice I’ve married men with stone where their hearts should be, so I obviously need help. Although at least Ren didn’t screw around on me.”

Isabel moved the clothes she’d folded out of the line of fire. “Your husband’s been unfaithful?”

Tracy’s voice grew unsteady. “He won’t admit it.”

“But you think he’s having an affair.”

“I caught them together. A hot little Swiss miss from his office. He . . . hated it when I got pregnant again.” She blinked hard. “This is his revenge.”

Isabel felt herself developing a good solid dislike for Mr. Harry Briggs.

Tracy tilted her head so that her hair fell over one shoulder. “Be reasonable, Ren. I’m not moving in here forever. I just need a few weeks to get my head together before I have to face everybody back home.”

“A few weeks?”

“The kids and I’ll spend all our time at the pool. You won’t even know we’re here.”

“Mommmmyyy!” Brittany streaked in, naked except for purple socks. “Connor threw up!” She shot back out again.

“Brittany Briggs, you come back here!” Tracy rushed after her, hips waddling. “Brittany!”

Ren shook his head. “It’s hard to believe that’s the same girl who used to throw a fit if her maid woke her before noon.”

“She’s a lot more fragile than she’s letting on. That’s why she’s come to you. You realize, don’t you, that you have to let her stay?”

“I’ve got to get out of here.” He grabbed her arm, and she barely had time to snatch her straw hat from the bed before he pushed her out the door. “I’ll buy you an espresso in town and one of those pornographic calendars you like so much.”

“Tempting, but I need to start making notes for my new book. The one on overcoming personal crisis,” she added.

“Trust me. Somebody who entertains herself picking up litter doesn’t have the foggiest idea how to overcome crisis.” He headed down the stairs. “One day you’re going to admit that life’s too messy to fit inside those tidy little Cornerstones of yours.”

“I’ve seen exactly how messy life can be.” She sounded defensive, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “I’ve also seen how applying the Cornerstones can make things better. It’s not just me, Ren. I have testimonials.” And how pathetic did that make her sound?

“I’ll bet you do. And I’m sure the Cornerstones work in a lot of situations, but they’re not going to work for everybody all the time, and I don’t think they’re working for you right now.”

“They’re not working because I’m not applying them properly.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I also might need to add a few new steps.”

“Will you just relax?”

“Like you?”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. At least I have a life.”

“You make awful movies where you do hateful things. You have to wear disguises to go out in public. You have no wife, no family. Is that what you call having a life?”

“Well, if you’re going to get picky about it.” He crossed the marble floor to the front door.

“You can deflect other people with wisecracks, but it doesn’t work with me.”

“That’s because you’ve forgotten how to laugh.” He twisted the knob.

“Untrue. You’re making me laugh right now. Ha!”

The door swung open to reveal a strange man standing on the other side.

“You wife-stealing bastard,” the intruder growled. And then he drew back his arm and swung.