One Fifth Avenue

“If it’s about reflecting society, we don’t need artists anymore,” Philip countered. “We have reality TV for that. And reality TV does it better.”

“Has anyone ever seen My Super Sweet 16?” Lola asked. “It’s really, really good.”

“I have,” James said.

“And what about The Hills?” Lola asked. “How great is that?”

“What the hell is The Hills?” Mindy grumbled. James caught Lola’s eye and smiled.

After the dinner, James found himself on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, alone with Lola. Mindy was in the bathroom, and Philip had run into some people he knew. Lola was buttoning her coat. James looked up and down the street, trying not to stare at her. “You must be cold,” he said.

“I don’t get cold,” she said.

“Really? My wife is always cold.”

“That’s too bad,” Lola said, not interested in discussing Mindy. “When does your book come out?”

“In six weeks. Exactly,” James said.

“You must be so excited. I can’t wait to read it.”

“Really?” James said in surprise, thinking about how interesting Lola was. Mindy was completely wrong. Lola wasn’t a little chippy at all. She was smart. “I could get you an advance copy,” he said.

“Sure,” she said with what James perceived as genuine enthusiasm.

“I can bring it upstairs. Tomorrow. Will you be home?”

“Come by at ten,” Lola said. “That’s when Philip goes to the gym. I’m always so bored in the mornings.”

“Ten o’clock,” James said. “Sure.”

She took a step closer. James saw that she was shivering. “Are you sure you’re not cold?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Take my scarf.” He unwound the striped woolen scarf he’d purchased from a street vendor. Glancing into the restaurant and seeing neither Mindy nor Philip, he tenderly placed the scarf around Lola’s neck. “That’s better,” he said. “You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

“I may not give it back at all,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s not every day a girl gets a scarf from a famous author.”

“There you are,” Mindy said, coming out the door with Philip behind her.

“Anyone want a nightcap?” James asked.

“I’m beat,” Mindy said. “It’s only Tuesday, and I’ve got a long week ahead of me.”

“Might be fun,” James said to Philip.

“I’m done, too,” Philip said. He took Lola’s arm. “Some other time, maybe.”

“Sure,” James said. He felt crushed.

Lola and Philip strolled home a few feet ahead of him and Mindy. Lola walked with youthful energy, tugging on Philip’s arm. Every now and then, she’d look up at Philip and laugh. James wished he knew what was entertaining her. He longed to stroll down the sidewalk with a girl, having fun. Instead, he had Mindy next to him. She was, he knew, freezing, refusing to wear a hat because it messed up her hair, walking silently with her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed against the cold. When they reached the lobby of One Fifth, Philip and Lola went right up in the elevator with vague murmurings of doing dinner sometime again in the future. Mindy went into the bedroom and changed into flannel pajamas. James thought more about Lola and how he was going to see her the next day.

“Damn,” Mindy said. “I forgot about Skippy.”

“Don’t worry,” James said. “I’ll walk him.”

He took the dog into the cobblestone street of the Washington Mews next to the building. While Skippy did his business, James stared up at the top of the building, as if he might catch a glimpse of Lola hundreds of feet above his head. All he saw, however, was the imposing facade of gray stone, and when he returned to the apartment, Mindy was in bed, reading The New Yorker. She lowered the magazine when he came in. “What was that business, anyway?” she asked.