Читать книгу Anyone But You - Jennifer Crusie - Страница 7

Nina stretched and squinted at the clock on the mantel. Eleven. Time to wake up, put Fred out and go to bed.

Fred?

Fred wasn’t next to her anymore. She leaned off the couch to look under the end table, but he wasn’t there. Suddenly the apartment seemed too quiet, and she went from bedroom to kitchen to living room calling Fred’s name.

He was gone. She’d fallen asleep, and he was gone. She stuck her head out the window and searched the yard anxiously for him.

No Fred.

She crawled out the window and ran down the two flights of fire escape, desperately searching the pavement below for Fred’s broken body.

No Fred.

She paced the backyard in the dark, inch by inch, looking behind and even in the Dumpster, just in case Fred had developed aspirations and had managed to climb inside.

No Fred.

The back gate was still locked, and the fence was too high for any dog to have jumped over, let alone the aerodynamically challenged Fred.

Nina climbed back up the fire escape, her throat tight with fear and loss, and crawled through the window, not sure what she was going to do next. She sank into her big armchair and tried to think.

Call the pound. Call the police. “I’ve lost my dog. He’s part basset, part beagle, part darling.”

“Oh, Fred,” Nina mourned out loud, and then jumped when someone knocked on her door.

The guy at the door was tall, blond, broad-shouldered and boyishly good-looking, and when she blinked up at him and said, “Yes?” he leaned against the doorjamb, loose-limbed, careless and confident. “Would you be Fred Askew’s mother?” he asked, and then she looked down and saw Fred sitting bored at his feet, his little silver ID tag glinting in the light from the hall.

“Fred!” Nina shrieked and dropped to her knees to gather him into her arms. “Oh, Fred, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Fred slurped his tongue over her face and then struggled to get free of her. Nina let him go and stood up, wiping her hand across her face to get rid of most of his spit. “Thank you.” She beamed at Fred’s rescuer. “Thank you so much. Where did you find him?”

“He was sitting on my couch when I woke up.” He held out his hand. “I’m Alex Moore. I live in the apartment below you.”

Nina wiped her fingers on her skirt and shook his hand, a little dazed. “On your couch? He was sitting on your couch?”

“Surprised me, too.” Alex grinned at her. “I think he came in from the fire escape.”

His grin was a killer, broad and friendly and a little evil, and Nina felt her pulse flutter in response. No, she told her pulse and turned to frown down at Fred. “I told you, it’s two flights. You have to climb all the way to the third floor, Fred. You can’t just pick any window and climb in.”

Fred did the dog equivalent of a shrug and walked away.

Alex raised his eyebrows. “You trained him to climb the fire escape?”

Nina bit her lip. “I was hoping no one would notice. I’m sorry. I—”

“No, I think it’s great. Weird, but great.” He grinned at her again, and Nina was struck by how nice he looked. Not handsome or distinguished like Guy. Just comfortably good-looking. Warmly good-looking. Stirringly good-looking.

And he couldn’t possibly be thirty yet.

This was a bad sign. It was also understandable since she’d been celibate for a year, but it was still a bad sign. This guy was a child. If she kept this up, she’d be buying a Porsche and cruising the local high schools.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Moore,” she began and stopped when he shook his head.

“Alex.” His eyes went back to Fred. “How long has he been climbing the fire escape?”

“Just since this afternoon,” Nina said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes came back to hers, brown and kind and alive with intelligence and humor, and she clamped down on any strange thoughts she might be having. “If Fred hadn’t climbed in my window, I wouldn’t have met you,” he said, “and I think knowing your neighbors is important. Of course, I haven’t met you yet. Let’s try this again.” He held out his hand again. “I’m Alex Moore.”

“Oh.” Nina took his hand, flustered. “I’m Nina Askew.”

“Hello, Nina Askew.” His hand was large and warm, and he had lovely long fingers, and Nina pulled her hand away as soon as she realized she was having thoughts about his fingers.

“Hey!” he said, and Nina flinched before she realized that he was looking beyond her. She turned just in time to see Fred fling himself out the window, and she said, “No, Fred!” as Alex moved past her.

She followed him to the window and watched with him as Fred waddled down two flights of stairs to the backyard where he promptly watered the Dumpster.

“Smart dog.” Alex quirked an eyebrow at Nina. “Did you teach him to do that?”

“I taught him the stairs,” Nina said. “He already knew how to lift his leg.”

“Smart woman,” Alex said, smiling into her eyes.

Oh, boy. “Would you like a Coke?” Nina asked and then kicked herself for asking. The last thing she needed was an incredibly sexy underage male drinking Coke in her kitchen.

“Love one,” Alex said.

FOR AN UGLY DOG, Fred had a very cute mother.

Once Fred had scrambled back through the window, Alex followed Nina into the kitchen, trying not to admire the swing of her round hips in her wrinkled brown skirt. He was pretty sure she’d just woken up: her short dark curls were rumpled and her big dark eyes were still a little sleepy and her pale pointed face was creased from a pillow somewhere. Pillows made him think of beds, which only led to one thing, and he told himself to knock it off or he’d end up like Max.

Of course, Max was a pretty happy guy.

Alex sat down at the table, trying not to stare at the soft curves in front of him. Very attractive woman, Fred’s mother. He owed Fred.

She took two blue-checked mugs from the cupboard and opened the freezer door, automatically putting her free hand up to push the large glass-covered pot on the top of the fridge farther back. Then she scooped ice into the mugs and nudged the door closed, and Alex admired her efficiency and her arms at the same time.

When she took two cans of soda out of the fridge and put the mugs and cans in front of him on the round oak table, he saw her face clearly for the first time, the tiny lines around her dark brown eyes, the softness in her face. She was Max’s age, maybe a little older. Her face looked settled, not serene exactly, but not the searching, anxious look that Debbie’s face had. She looked wonderful and comfortable and centered in herself, and he wanted to tell her so, but he stopped in time. She might think it was a pass.

Which it would be, come to think of it, and that would be a bad idea since she lived right above him, and if she took offense, there’d be tension whenever they met. And if she didn’t take offense at the pass, she would later when he explained he didn’t want to get married. He had enough problems; no point in screwing up the place he lived, too.

“Thank you,” he said, and she said, “Thank you for bringing Fred home.” Then she smiled at him, and he felt a little dizzy for a minute.

“I’m sorry Fred came through your window,” she said.

“I’m not,” Alex said. “This way we get to talk. It’s a good building, and now it’s better because you’re here.” She flushed, and he thought, not used to getting compliments, huh? and wondered if there was a man in her life and if so, why wasn’t she used to getting compliments?

“I haven’t met the other people yet.” She poured herself a Coke before she sat opposite him. “Well, I’ve met the landlord on the first floor, of course. And I hear somebody go by on the way up to the fourth-floor apartment sometimes, but I hate to open the door and introduce myself. It seems pushy.”

Alex laughed. “The fourth floor is Norma Lynn. She loves pushy. In fact, I think she invented it. She’s seventy-five—”

Nina blinked. “And she’s on the fourth floor? That’s awful!”

“No, it isn’t.” Alex sat back and watched her outrage. Nice woman. “Norma had her pick of apartments when this place was first chopped up.”

Nina seemed confused. She looked good confused, too. “She wanted the fourth floor?”

“Norma is in better shape than you and me put together,” Alex said and then thought, Well, not in better shape than you, and squelched the thought of the two of them put together. He had to stop hanging around with Max; he was turning into a rat. “She climbs those stairs at least twice a day on her way back from yoga and her self-defense class, which is why, as she will tell you, she has the quadriceps of a sixteen-year-old. She also has an exercise bike that she keeps on the fire escape, which is illegal, but she doesn’t care. If you put your head out the window at daybreak every day, you can see Norma peddling away. Norma is going to outlive us all.”

“Good for her,” Nina said. “Maybe I should take her some tea or something. Does she get lonely?”

“Norma? She plays bridge on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, teaches piano on Mondays and Wednesdays and holds a readers’ group on Friday nights. I know because she’s invited me to all of them.”

Nina smiled, delighted with Norma, and Alex smiled back, delighted with Nina. “Did you go?” she asked.

“She trashed me at bridge and told me I was tone-deaf at the piano,” Alex said. “I haven’t faced the readers’ group yet. I don’t read much.”

“Maybe I’ll go up some evening,” Nina said, and Alex shook his head, hating to mess up such a nice plan but knowing Norma wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Don’t do it. Rich comes to call in the evenings. Every evening.”

“Rich?”

“Her younger man.” Alex watched Nina’s face flush again and thought how pretty she looked flushed. “He’s sixty-two. Norma says most guys can’t keep up with her, but Rich has no problem. Of course, Rich also runs the marathon every year and finishes in the top fifty, so he’s no slouch, either. They’re both great, but I wouldn’t drop by there uninvited at night for anything. They like their privacy.”

“I’ll just have to open my door when she’s going by sometime, then,” Nina said. “She’s not shy, right?”

“Right.”

“What about dogs?” Nina looked anxious again. “Will she be upset about Fred?”

“Only if he pees on her exercise bike,” Alex said. “Norma’s pretty easygoing.”

Nina looked down at the pile of bones and skin that Fred melted into every time he collapsed somewhere. “Don’t pee on Norma’s bike, Fred.”

Fred snored.

“I think he’s got it,” Alex said. “Sharp dog.”

“And don’t go in Alex’s window, either,” Nina went on, and Alex said, “Well, let’s not get carried away here. I can always use the company.”

Nina smiled at him again, warm and serene and welcoming, and he blinked, wondering why he was having such a hard time remembering his place in the conversation. There was no reason for her to be confusing him like this. He was hardly over his relationship with…with…

Oh, hell.

Nina said, “Are you all right?” and he thought, Get out of here, Alex, she’s fogging your mind. Who the hell had he been dating? She’d been blond, he remembered that. Time to get out. He stood up and said, “I’m great, but I’d better go now. Thanks for the Coke.”

She followed him to the door, thanking him again for returning Fred, while he tried to remember the name of the woman he’d been seeing for six weeks. Why couldn’t he remember? It had to be age. He was going to be thirty tomorrow, and already the mind was going. Whatshername had had a narrow escape; their kids would have done lousy on the SATs, and she was the type who would have cared. What the hell was her name?

“Debbie,” he said, and the woman in front of him said, “No, Nina.”

He blinked down into her dark, dark eyes, which was how he’d gotten in this mess in the first place. “I know you’re Nina, I was just trying to remember the name of my…uh, dog.”

“You have a dog?” Nina beamed. “That’s why Fred came through your window. Looking for a friend.”

“No. Debbie was my…never mind.” Alex shook his head. “Anyway, Fred had the right idea. I could use a friend, myself.”

She held out her hand. “Well, you’ve got two upstairs now. We really appreciate you coming to the rescue.”

He took her hand, trying to ignore how soft and warm it was while he appreciated her, too. Knock it off, he told himself and dropped her hand. “Got to go. See you, Fred,” he called back over his shoulder and then he escaped into the hall and down the stairs.

On the way down, he met Rich, looking disgustingly healthy in jeans and a gray-striped shirt that matched the gray in his hair, on his way up to Norma’s with a pizza.

“Hello, Alex.” Rich punched him in the arm. “Not making time with my woman, are you?”

“Rich, you know Norma wouldn’t look twice at me. I couldn’t keep up her pace.” Alex nursed his bicep where Rich had pounded him. Rich had a mean punch. “I was in three, meeting the new tenant.”

“Ah.” Rich nodded. “I saw her the other day. Very nice-looking.” He squinted at Alex. “She’s older than you are.”

“You should talk,” Alex said.

“No, no, that’s good.” Rich leaned closer. “Older women know things.”

Alex hated to ask, but he had to. “What kind of things?”

Rich raised his eyebrows. “Things. You’ll find out.” He sighed. “Of course, she’s no Norma. They broke the mold when they made Norma.”

“I always figured Norma broke the mold because she didn’t want the competition,” Alex said, and Rich roared with laughter.

“Didn’t want the competition. Wait’ll I tell Norma. She’ll love that one.”

“Yeah, and if she doesn’t, she’ll come down and beat the crap out of me,” Alex said, and Rich laughed again and went jogging up the stairs with Norma’s pizza.

“Older women, huh?” Alex said to his retreating back, but Rich was too far away to hear.

“I READ AN ARTICLE on menopause yesterday,” Nina said to Charity, who was sitting on the oriental rug on Nina’s living-room floor, looking elegant and sexy in a black silk catsuit. Nina looked down at her own blue-striped cotton pajamas and sighed. You are what you wear, she told herself, and went back to the feast that she and Charity had assembled on the floor around them: nonfat pretzels, nonfat potato chips and a blender full of chocolate Amaretto milk shake.

And Fred.

Fred was turning out to be a world-class mooch.

Charity rolled her eyes and fed Fred a pretzel, which he took gently in his mouth, dropped on the ground, pushed with his nose, examined closely, and then, deciding it was exactly like the other three pretzels he’d had earlier, ate. “Don’t rush into anything, Fred,” Charity told him and then turned back to Nina. “Why are you reading about menopause, for heaven’s sake?”

“Because I’m forty now.” Nina crunched into a pretzel. “It said that perimenopause starts in the forties.”

“Nina, you’ve been forty for about forty-eight hours. Estrogen deprivation won’t start for at least another week.” Charity leaned over Nina’s blue-striped lap to grab the potato-chip bag. “I can’t believe you’re torturing yourself like this.”

“There was a list of symptoms,” Nina went on. “Warning signs. They were awful.”

“Hot flashes.” Charity nodded. “I get those every time I think of Sean. Only I think it’s rage not menopause.”

“One of them is that your pubic hair starts to thin,” Nina said.

Charity stopped with a chip halfway to her mouth. “I did not need to know this.”

Nina nodded. “So I was in the shower last night and I looked, but the thing is, I never paid that much attention before, so I don’t have any idea if mine’s thinner.”

Charity dropped the chip back into the bag. “Nina, honey, you’re losing your grip.”

Nina stuck her chin out. “I just want to know. I want to be prepared.”

Charity shrugged and went back to the chips. “So ask Guy.”

Nina shot her a withering look. “Ask my ex-husband to check my pubic hair to see if it’s thinned in the year we’ve been divorced? No, I don’t think so.”

Charity beamed at her. “Well, there’s always Rogaine.”

“Thank you very much.” Nina slurped up more of her milk shake. “And then there’s this thing I’m developing for younger men. I was watching ‘Friends’ the other night and caught myself wondering what Matthew Perry is like in bed.”

“I’ve wondered that myself,” Charity said. “You know, whether he’d stop wisecracking long enough to—”

“Charity, I could have given birth to Matthew Perry.”

Charity looked at her with patient contempt. “Nina, Matthew Perry is not a real person. He’s an actor. He doesn’t count. Now, if you were having hot thoughts about Macaulay Culkin, I’d worry. But Matthew Perry, no.”

“He counts,” Nina said stubbornly.

“Hell, I think about James Dean and he’s dead,” Charity went on. “That doesn’t mean I’m heading for the cemetery with a shovel. Fantasy is not the same as reality. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“It’s happening in reality, too,” Nina said. “I met my downstairs neighbor yesterday, and I was thinking about how much fun he looked and what great hands he had, and I swear, he can’t be more than twenty-five. It’s only a matter of time until I’m cruising the high schools.”

Charity sat up straighter, which made her black silk move against her curves. It was a shame there wasn’t a man around to watch Charity move, Nina thought. The whole effect was sort of wasted on her and Fred.

Fred was investigating the potato-chip bag.

“Downstairs?” Charity said, pushing Fred’s nose out of the bag. “You didn’t mention any guy downstairs. Who is he? What does he do? Is he married?”

Nina tried to look quelling. “I told you. He’s just a baby.”

“I like babies,” Charity said. “As long as they’re not mine. This could be good. Tell me about him.”

Nina glared at Charity and her black silk, a combination that could seduce any man of any age. “You’re going to jump my infant neighbor?”

“No,” Charity said patiently. “I’m going to talk you into jumping your infant neighbor. If he’s not married.”

“He’s not,” Nina said, slumping a little. “At least there was no ring, and he didn’t mention a wife.”

Charity snorted.

Nina gave her a severe look. “And you’re not talking me into anything anyway, so just drop it.”

“Is he cute?” Charity asked. “What does he do for a living?”

The image of Alex lounging at her table, broad-shouldered and confident, came to mind, but Nina evicted it at once. “Yes, he’s cute. I have no idea what he does for a living. Probably something involving a small hat and French-fry oil. He doesn’t look too focused.”

“That’s wonderful.” Charity sat back, so enthused she fed Fred a potato chip. Fred ate it cautiously since it wasn’t a pretzel. “This is great. Make him your toy boy. If he’s got some kind of McJob, you won’t end up being a corporate wife, and since he’s young, he’ll still be interested in sex. This is perfect.”

Nina glared at her because the thought was so tempting. “It is not perfect. I’m not dating somebody who’s fifteen years younger than I am. I’m not dating again at all, I like being free and not having to go to stupid dinners and dress up for somebody else’s career, but if I was going to start dating again, it would not be this guy.” She thought again of Alex, loose-limbed and long-fingered in her doorway and way, way too young for her. If she started dating him or, dear God, sleeping with him—she swallowed at the thought—people would say she was in her second childhood. People would look at them on the street and wonder what he saw in her. Guy would sneer. Her mother would roll her eyes. His friends would make jokes about Oedipus Alex. She’d be obsessing over thinning pubic hair, and he’d be playing air guitar.

Worst of all, if she slept with him, she’d have to take off her clothes and her mother was right: her body was forty years old. The whole idea was impossible.

And he wasn’t interested in her, anyway. Just what she needed, to start fantasizing about a man who thought of her as a mother figure and who just by existing would make her feel older than she already did. She’d end up literally working her butt off to try to look younger than she was instead of enjoying the freedom she had now. “It would be too humiliating,” she finished. “Not Alex. Anyone but Alex.”

Charity grinned. “Why not? He’s never seen your pubic hair before. He won’t notice the thinning.”

Nina sighed. “And to think you’re my best friend.”

“Damn right, chickie,” Charity said, going back to the chips. “That’s why I’m giving you this great advice. Break the kid’s heart. He needs it for the growth experience, and it’ll make you feel so much better about the divorce. Trust Aunt Charity. When it comes to romance, she knows. Besides, it’ll make Guy crazy.”

Nina shook her head and changed the subject before Charity talked her into something stupid. “Forget Guy. My real problems are not with Guy or the infant downstairs, they’re with Jessica.”

Charity tilted her head in sympathy. “Poor baby. Is this that boring book you told me about?”

Nina nodded. “Some upper-class twit’s prep-school memoirs. I thought the rich were supposed to be depraved, but this guy never even short-sheeted a bed. It is the most tedious stuff I’ve ever waded through.”

Charity picked up her shake and stirred it with her straw. “Seems to me, the idea behind a memoir is to have something to remember.”

“Not if you’re rich,” Nina said.

Charity leaned back, thoughtful. “Now, I could write a hell of a memoir. When I think of the trauma I’ve lived through—” She shook her head in self-amazement and slurped up some milk shake.

Nina snorted. “I should have you ghostwrite this book for this guy. Graft some of your sex life onto his non-life.”

“I should write my own book,” Charity said. “It’s about time I had a career instead of a past.”

Nina smiled and fed Fred a chip. That would be one hell of a book: Charity’s life between covers, one disaster after another, described the way Charity had described it to her over the years.

Nina stopped smiling. It would be one hell of a book. She looked at Charity. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Charity said. “So why aren’t I rich and married and getting great sex nightly?”

Nina leaned forward. “Can you write, Charity?”

Charity looked at her, annoyed. “Of course I can write. I can read, too.”

“No.” Nina grabbed her arm to get her attention. “I mean, can you write? Prose. Could you write a book?”

Charity blinked at her. “A book?”

“Your memoirs.” Nina leaned closer. “I know your breakups must have been awful at the time, at all the times, but you’re really funny when you talk about them. Could you write a funny, sexy book about your past love life?”