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could do it, but ever since that
stupid night their friendship had gone all weird.  She knew
she was playing with fire, not having better backup
daycare. 
    The other apartment door swung open, making
her jump. 
    "Heya Carol!"
    She turned, putting on a fake smile. 
Her young muscle-head neighbor, Tony, had a black plastic trash bag
slung over his shoulder.  Tony spent his free time in two
ways:  lifting weights in his apartment, and getting in as
many free sessions as he could at the tanning salon where he
worked.  When he first moved in late last year, Tony was tan
but a normal tan, as if he had just gotten back from a two-week
trip to the Bahamas.  Now his skin was the color of
caramel. 
    Lately he had bulked up even more than when
she first met him, and he had also taken to wearing T-shirts and
stretch pants way too tight.  His muscles stretched against
his thin white T-shirt, a shirt inscribed with the slogan "Lift or
Die."  The worst part were his black nylon stretch
pants.  She could practically make out ever bump and wrinkle
in his package.  Every time she saw him in those, she had to
stifle the urge to say, "So, hang to the left, huh?" 
    She also had her suspicions that his
increased obsession with tanning and muscles was a direct result of
her calling a quick end to their dating.  It had lasted a
grand total of one night.  In a moment of weakness, she had
agreed to go to dinner with him.  She had known he was too
young, but she hadn't known by how much.  She had hoped he was
a baby faced twenty-five, but no, he was a baby faced nineteen, and
that was too damn young when Carol was closing in on thirty. 
Thank god she hadn't slept with him. 
    "Going out?" he said.
    "No, Tony, coming in.  That's why our
clothes are wet."
    "Oh, right.  Well, I'm just taking out
the trash."  He closed the door but didn't go anywhere. 
"Doing a little lifting today."
    "Yeah, I can tell."  Now why did she
say that?  She didn't need to encourage him.
    He perked up.  "Really?  Well,
I've been working on my gluts.  What do you think?"  He
turned around and showed her his backside, flexing the muscles
there.  It was a nice ass, Carol had to admit—nice in a
circus, freak show sort of way.  "Twenty minutes a day for
three months and you can have an ass just like this, Carol."
    "Really?  Wow, that's something. 
I have to go."
    "Wait, before you do . . ."
    Here it comes, Carol thought. 
    "I was thinking," he said, shifting the
trash to the other shoulder.  The distinct smell of garlic was
coming from the bag, and there was another smell in the air,
too.  Suntan lotion.  She had to keep looking at his eyes
so he wouldn't think she was looking at his package.  "I mean,
if you don't have any plans, I make a mean lasagna.  I think
you remember.  I'd be happy to show you how to do those glut
exercises.  We could make it a date.  Say this
Friday?"
    Carol smiled.  Now the hard part. 
"I'm afraid I have other plans."
    "Oh really?  With who?"
    "Well, not that it's really your business,
but with David."  Behind her back, she crossed her
fingers.  It was a silly thing to do, but you just couldn't
get ten years of Catholic school out of your system very
easily.
    "I thought you guys broke up."
    "We got back together."
    "Mommy told David that they can't be friends
and sleeping partners," Sam said.
    Carol laughed and looked down, realized she
was looking in the direction of Tony's package, then looked up
again.  "Kids," she said, shrugging.  "Breakups, makeups,
it all sounds the same."
    "Okay," Tony said, his enthusiasm only
slightly dimmed.  "Well, if your plans change . . ."
    "Sure," Carol said.
    He started down the stairs.  She turned
to the lock and was hit with a wave of despair.  Now she had
to go inside and call her boss.  Then another idea came to
her.  She was crazy to even think it, but she was out of
options.  And Tony really was a nice guy.  Weird, but
nice. 
    "Oh, Tony," she called after