persisted. Maybe a jog was just the ticket to make the beginnings of a stress headache go away. Cassie was one of those health food evangelists who took pleasure in pointing out the dietary transgressions of others. She thought eating red meat was a crime and had to know exactly which spring her water came from. In spite of this, her curves were not those of a fervent dieter, but Cassie dismissed her bustline and bottom as hereditary, and left it at that.
Rita defended her drug of choice. “The detrimental effects of coffee are greatly exaggerated. It’s good for you, actually.”
“Says who?”
“Says the May issue of Niobe. If there’s anybody who should remember that, it should be you.” Apart from being Rita’s best friend, Cassie was also a senior editor at the magazine.
Cassie blew a raspberry. “The opinions expressed therein are not necessarily those of management.”
Both women laughed.
“Speaking of which,” Rita said as they found their stride, “how’s work?”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask. I had the awfulest, awfulest day yesterday. The art department sent up the new cover layout, and it’s a joke. The model weighed about twenty pounds! Does anyone around there ever listen to what I say? Niobe is a magazine for real women, not scarecrows! I sent it back and told them to get me a model with some flesh on her bones. Someone who looks like she’s had a meal this month. You know?”
“Just wait ’til the scarecrows’ union gets on your back.”
“Oh, yeah? Ha! Your mom’d be proud of me. You know how she’s always raving on about a positive body image for women—never mind she’s still a perfect size six at her age.”
At least that would make her proud of someone, Rita thought. “She called me this morning.”
“Yeah? Speak of the devil. What are Ma and Pa Kinsey up to this time? Nude boogie-boarding in Ibiza?”
“Close enough. They’re off to Vegas. Signings, lectures, interviews, the usual.”
“I heard Bea on the radio the other night. She was a riot! Is it true she had male strippers at her book signing in Denver?”
“That’s what she told me. And I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
“Aw, Rita, don’t be like that. You have no idea how lucky you are to have them as your parents. When I was young, my folks threw a fit if I bought a skirt that showed off my knees. Yours have got to be two of the most modern, forward-thinking sixty-year-olds around. It must have been so cool growing up in their house.”
So you’d imagine, unless you actually had to do it, Rita thought. But she trotted along, pretending she had to take her pulse. Cassie didn’t push it, and they both fell silent.
They jogged in perfect synchronicity with the ease of two people who had done this for a very long time, dodging commuters and other joggers, keeping up the rhythm by running in place at traffic lights, all the way down to De Menzes Park, the pride of Santa Amata. The spread covered several acres of prime, gently undulating land. At the turn of the last century, it had been a horse farm, owned by one of the founding fathers of the small east-coast city. After the grandson of the patriarch died in the late 1950s, his widow donated it to the city. They turned it into the site of choice for a host of community activities, from Girl Scout bake sales to Little League games to summer kite-flying contests to outdoor yoga classes.
They entered by the eastern gate and took their favorite footpath, the one that led to the enormous man-made lake that took up almost a quarter of the park’s area. The trees that ringed the lake had begun shedding their leaves, which crunched under their pounding feet like musical accompaniment.
Cassie cleared her throat. “Rita…” she began.
Rita was too engrossed in the pleasing rustle of the leaves to pick up on the note in her friend’s voice which, under other circumstances, would have set off alarm bells. “Yeah?”
“You know how I’m always saying you should get out more often?”
“You know how I’m always saying I’m happy with my life just the way it is? Dateless?” she joked back.
Cassie didn’t laugh. “Well,” she began, and then stalled. She tried again. “Well…”
This time, Rita heard that note loud and clear. “Well, what?”
“I have a favor to ask you.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “Tell me you’re going away for the weekend and need your plants watered.”
“No, it’s not that.”
She was almost afraid to ask. “What, then?”
“I need you to go out on a date with me.”
“Sorry, I’m not that sort of girl.”
“You’re being deliberately obtuse, and you know it. I need you to go on a double date with me.”
Rita halted, shoes scraping on the footpath. “You’re kidding, right?”
Cassie, who had stopped a few yards farther down, turned and jogged back to her side. “No, I’m dead serious.” She jogged on the spot, keeping her rhythm, even though Rita was standing stock still.
“Cassie, we’re two sane, adult women. I haven’t been on a double date since I was seventeen. Why, for heaven’s sake? Is my lack of a love life that pathetic? Because, let me tell you, I’m perfectly—”
“Perfectly happy being single. I know. It’s not that. I need you.” She stopped her on-the-spot trot and faced Rita.
“Okay,” Rita gave in wearily. “Out with it.”
“Remember last week how I told you about this guy who chased down a purse snatcher for me?”
“Ah, yes, your knight in a three-piece suit.”
“His name’s Clark.”
“Okay, Clark. What about him?”
“Well, he asked me out.”
“You talked to him for ten seconds and he asked you out?”
“Well, uh, it was more than ten seconds. After this total stranger chases down my purse for three blocks and brings it back, I feel like I owe him a few moments of my time, you know? So I thank him, and the next thing I know we’re chatting. About the weather and the news and the Middle East and what we do for a living. Then what d’ya know? We’ve been standing on the sidewalk for more than half an hour. He apologizes for keeping me, and says he’d better let me go. I say, nice meeting you. And then we go on talking for another fifteen minutes.”
“You stood on the sidewalk in rush hour traffic talking with a stranger for forty-five minutes?”
“He brought me back my purse!”
“Thank him, slip him a twenty, and go your separate ways.”
