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roommate to bother you?” Candace cocked her head inquiringly.
    “What? Oh, no. I hate sharing with other people.”
    “Even . . . women?”
    “Especially women. All those fights about the garbage, or who finished the milk. Who cares? I like to be able to do what I want when I want.”
    Candace nodded. “Solitude is an essential prerequisite for the artist.”
    “Yeah. Right.” She was very articulate for a twenty-two-year-old.
    “So, tell me, Jack, what are you?”
    Jack was nonplussed. “A writer, I guess.”
    “No, what star sign?” Candace laughed at his foolishness. “Wait, let me guess.” Her brow furrowed as she considered the alternatives. “Let’s see. You’re creative, sensitive, intelligent . . .”
    “Keep going.”
    “. . . and a little egotistical. Hmm. Aquarius?” Her head tilted. “Am I right?”
    “No idea. My birthday’s February first, if that’s any help.”
    “I knew it!” Candace clapped her hands with excitement. Her brown eyes grew wide. “That’s so awesome. It must be the Sagittarius in me—you know, intuition and stuff. I’m on the cusp with Scorpio.”
    Jack had no idea what she was talking about, but she looked so cute and perky that he smiled back.
    “I have a favor to ask.” Candace took a pen out of her purse, then reached for something in her pile of papers. Jack’s heart sank. He didn’t want to spend his Saturday in textual analysis of someone else’s dreary prose.
    She held a book out to him. “I know it’s corny, but would you—?”
    Jack was gratified to recognize his own book, the collection of short stories that had launched his career on a tide of rave reviews. In hardback, too. “Aw, you shouldn’t have wasted your money.”
    “I found it on sale, reduced to half price. Wasn’t that lucky?”
    Jack frowned. This was not something authors liked to hear. He turned to the title page, took the pen Candace offered, and thought for a moment. Then he wrote “Candy is dandy,” and signed his name with a flourish. He closed the book and handed it back.
    Candace stroked the dust jacket reverently. “If I saw my name on a real book I think I’d die.”
    “You’d have an awfully short career.”
    Candace laughed and hugged the book tight, so that her breasts plumped up above the stretchy top she was wearing. Jack wondered if that was what people called a boob tube . Or a bustier ?—or a basque ? Whatever it was, he’d like to shake its inventor by the hand.
    “Listen,” he said casually, “are you doing anything tonight?”
    “Me?” Candace’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Not especially. Why?”
    “I was thinking, you could leave me your script to read, and we could talk about it over dinner.”
    “Just you and me?”
    “Just you and me.”
    “But it’s Saturday night.” Her lips curved flirtatiously. “You must have plans. Isn’t there somebody—?”
    “Nobody,” Jack said firmly. “Not a thing. No plans, no ties, no—”
    A sudden commotion erupted in the hallway. There was a yelp of pain, a vengeful thump, a muttered tirade. Then a whey-faced figure limped into the room, wearing nothing but a striped shirt Jack vaguely recognized. He stared. It was his shirt. And the woman inside was Freya. He’d forgotten all about her.
    “ ‘Scuse me,” she croaked. “Oof!” She winced as the slanting sunlight hit her face and flung up a protective hand, then shuffled blindly across the room, depositing a metal bottle cap on the table as she passed. Jack watched, speechless, as she continued through to the passage beyond. There was the slam of the bathroom door, then the sound of somebody throwing up.
    “I have to go now.” Candace was already on her feet. The sparkle had gone from her face.
    “But you’ve just come!” Jack sprang out of his chair, blocking her way. He wanted to strangle Freya. “Look, you haven’t even finished your coffee. Sit down.”
    Candace shook her head. “I need to do some shopping. And you’re