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got a distracted look on his face and went silent for a minute. The phone rang; a hang-up, but then it rang again. He went to have a long mumbled conversation in the other part of the loft. Already I was developing a colossal crush on him—probably the emotional equivalent of having a “Kick Me” sign taped to my back.
    “I forgot about this thing I was supposed be at an hour ago,” Jack said when he returned.
    I jumped up, hoping I hadn’t overstayed my welcome. “I was just heading out.”
    “I think we’re going to stay here a few more minutes, and then maybe go somewhere else.” Vicky gave me a wide grin to let me know she was taking Sammy to her place.
    “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” I said.
    Jack grabbed the cup with the moth, pressed the elevator button and got in with me. He reached over and fingered a button at the base of my neck. “I like this shirt of yours with the pearl buttons. Where did you get it?” His hand just whispered on my bare skin before he moved it away.
    I swallowed. “I get a lot of my stuff from Alice Underground. It’s this below-street-level shop on the Upper West Side. They have second-hand and nicer vintage things too.”
    “I could use some new threads. You’ll have to take me there sometime.”
    “Okay,” I said, wondering if he really meant it. The elevator opened and we went across the lobby. The doorman held the door as we stepped out into the street. “Thanks for playing those records.”
    “Anytime.” Jack took the lid off the cup. “Go on back to your old lady,” he said as the moth spiraled up into the night sky. “I was really into insects when I was a kid. I’d catch a jar of fireflies and bring them to my room at night. I liked to watch them flickering on and off while I fell asleep.”
    He ran his hand through his hair and gazed down the block. “What are you up to Sunday night?” he finally said. “I’ll be in the studio all day; we’re finishing the tracks for a new album. You can come over here and listen to some more music.”
    I suppressed the urge to shout “Yes!” and took a breath. “Sunday’s great.”
    Jack smiled, the breeze ruffling his hair. “Vicky can come, too. I love turning people on to these old blues. I’ll pick you up around seven since you have to work Monday.”
    “Don’t remind me. I need to be there by 8:30 to take notes in a meeting for my boss, Harvey. He’s the publisher.”
    Jack rolled his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I was up that early. Unless I’d just never gone to bed.”
    “We working stiffs have to rise and shine.”
    “My motto is, ‘All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.’” He raised his eyebrow at me, and I almost dissolved into the litter-strewn sidewalk. “How about giving me your number?”
    “Sure.” I got a scrap of paper from my backpack, so flustered I had to think for a minute before writing it down. He took the pen from my hand, scribbled on the bottom and tore it off. “Here’s mine.”
    I poked it deep into my jeans pocket. “Well … thanks again! Goodnight.”
    I crossed Houston in a blissed-out fog. So here’s what happened today: I typed letters. I answered phones. I came home to find Jack Kipling sitting on my stoop . And now his number was in my pocket. I felt for the curl of paper to make sure it was really there.
    It was impossible to get to sleep. I wondered if Vicky was already rolling around in bed with Sammy. I pictured Jack’s face as he listened to the music, eyes closed, his lithe body stretched out in the chair. I couldn’t wait to see him again Sunday night. My breakup with Art was starting to seem light years away.

 
     
     
Chapter 6
    Lively Up Yourself
     
     
    The next morning as I sat on my futon having coffee, my eyes fell on the notebook resting on my bedside table. I put down the mug and opened the marbled cover. Written in block letters were the titles of the first books I’d ever read: The Cat in the Hat, Harold and the