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asked me to read one of your pieces since your first year at the paper.”
    She looked away, as if she was suddenly fascinated by the cluster of pigeons vying for perching space on the ledge of the building across the street. “Man, even the birds are property hungry in Manhattan,” she said. Peter was like her dad in this way, too. He always knew when she was hiding something. And he would just look at her, waiting, until she spilled it.
    “Things got a little messy during the interview.” She kept her eyes on the pigeons. The biggest one was inching his way over, forcing the others to crowd in or flutter away. “There was some vodka. I might have gone home with my subject.”
    Beside her, Peter let out a long puff of air. “That’s pretty messy.”
    “I mean, it wasn’t … we didn’t … but it was close. I woke up in his bed with most of my clothes on. I just wanted to you to make sure I had maintained my professional objectivity, even if I didn’t exactly do the interview in the standard way.” She glanced over at him. His face was serious.
    “Maybe I should give that a shot. Get semi-naked with my subjects to get them to cough up their most intimate thoughts. What do you think?” he asked, deadpan. “Although, Maggie might not be one hundred percent on board.”
    Sherry laughed. “Well, it’s not going to be my new standard operating procedure, but I did get more out of him than I would have if I had taken the traditional route. How is Maggie, by the way?”
    “Good. A million projects on the go. Run off her feet by the kids. Business as usual. She wants to have you over for dinner sometime soon. She’s worried about you.” He looked at her over the top of his glasses, and Sherry knew that he was, too. She had told him about Glenn, of course, and the break-up. He knew she wasn’t handling it well. Her behavior with Alexi only proved that.
    “Yeah, sure. I’ll bring the wine.”
    “We’ll hide the vodka.” He furrowed his eyebrows, meaningfully.
    She popped the last bite of hotdog into her mouth. “I never want to hear that word again. I have more caffeine and Tylenol in my system than should be legally allowed and I still feel like I’ve been run over by a bus.”
    “I don’t know. I think it will be pretty hard dating a Russian without hearing the word vodka.” He grabbed her hotdog wrapper and dropped them both into a trashcan as they were passing it.
    “Ukrainian. And who said anything about dating?”
    He glanced at her and smiled. “Sherry. How long have we known each other? Five, six years? If that isn’t the glow of love in your cheeks, I don’t know what is.”
    “Maybe it’s Maybelline,” she muttered.
    “What?”
    “Never mind. Listen, I don’t know what you see in my cheeks, but it isn’t love. After Glenn, I’m so over love. Besides, I’m not his type. He likes party girls, and you and I both know that ain’t me.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets, imagining the kind of girl Alexi usual went for. She pictured colt-legged giggly girls with glossy hair and lips.
    “I’m not sure about that. If downing a bottle of vodka and going home with someone you just met isn’t the definition of a party girl, I don’t know what is.” His face was serious, but his eyes were laughing.
    “Enough already.” She elbowed his arm, gently. They were back at the dingy grey building that housed the paper. She swung open the door and held it for him, but he didn’t go through. He leaned against it, the laughter draining from his eyes.
    “Enough, you’re right. Sleeping with your subject, though not unheard of in reporting history, is a rather serious breach of protocol. If the wrong people found out…” He let the thought die.
    “I know,” she said. She walked through the door, and headed for the stairs. Kim’s face popped into her mind. She would make Sherry’s life hell, and that would be just the appetizer.
    As if she had conjured it up, Kim’s face was waiting