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could possibly be dolled up for any reason other than to please him. The nerve. I paused on the landing and with a great sense of superiority announced, “First of all, it’s none of your concern. And second, I really don’t want anything to do with you.”
    As I stepped past him, he looked at me in some confusion. One of his harem not drooling over him? “All right...” he said slowly, drawing out the words to give himself time to regain his composure. He smiled flirtatiously, as though I were joking.
    “Noah, I’m not an imbecile,” I said calmly. “I started my day yesterday by looking out my window to see a blonde tart emerging from your apartment.” Why did I say tart ? Who says that? What am I all of a sudden, British?
    But Noah’s face fell. Caught.
    “Christ, Noah, do you think I don’t have feelings, that it wouldn’t be weird for me? Did you forget that I live upstairs?” I asked cooly.
    “Chloe, I’m sorry you saw that, but I did tell you I didn’t Want a girlfriend, and you seemed to be okay with that. I guess I should’ve known you’d get hurt.” Pig.
    Before he could elaborate on his supposed sympathy for my wounded feelings, I cut him off and nailed him with a lecture on considerate behavior. “You know, I don’t care what you said to me. You don’t get to feel okay about behaving badly because of a technicality. I know you said all the necessary things, but you also acted like you were dating me, like you were interested in me. I don’t care so much about you in particular. What I care about is how little respect you’ve shown for me. I mean, honestly, it’s just rude to parade other women around in front of me. I take responsibility for my part in setting myself up for something like this, but you need to take responsibility, too. You’ve been all cuddly and cute with me, which, in the human world , indicates interest and a certain level of caring. You have an obligation to be careful with people, and you didn’t do that.”
    “I’m sorry you see it that way, Chloe,” was his lame response.
    “I’m sorry it is that way.” Feeling pretty damn smart, I pivoted sharply and strutted sexily down the steps. Unfortunately, I managed to weaken my first-class moralizing when I reached my car, looked up to see Noah back at work on his plants, and shouted moronically, “You’re no Tom Hanks, you know!”
    “Are you sure you—?” started Noah, and I could see he was trying not to laugh.
    Dammit, I meant to say Tom Cruise. Although, now that I thought about it, Tom Cruise had turned into a raving lunatic. I’d spent my formative years with Tom Cruise behaving like a normal, gorgeous celebrity and still couldn’t wrap my brain around the new nutjob he’d become.
    “Yes,” I stammered. “Tom Hanks. A man known for his upstanding morality and loyalty. He’s been with the same woman for years. Mr. Cruise, on the other hand, ditched his wife, ran off with Penelope, and had a Scientology-laced manic phase in which he jumped on Oprah’s couch and hooked up with Katie Holmes after seeing her supposed work on Dawson’s Creek\ Mr. Tom Hanks is a well-behaved citizen with ethics. And you, Noah Bishop, are no Tom Hanks!” Hoping I’d recovered, I ended with, “And I’m going on a date!”
    I opened the car door.
    “You watch Oprah?” he called down after me.
    “Shut up!”
    I replayed my talk with Noah on the way to Essence. All in all, not disastrous, minus the severely fouled up Tom Hanks part.
    I reached the South End and by the grace of some parking angel managed to find a space. Because it was Labor Day weekend, half of Boston was on the Cape, but I chose to see the parking availability as a good omen. If so, it foretold only short-term luck. What’s more, the good luck was strictly mine and certainly not my blind date’s.
     

FOUR
     
    EVEN from the outside, Essence was a beautiful restaurant. Large windows faced the street. Through them, I could see the glimmer of