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  Nick knocked again. “Tess? You want me to grovel? I’ll grovel. I’ve got a great grovel. You’ve never seen my grovel—you left before I could show it to you. Come on, Tess, let me in.”

  Gina jerked her head toward the door. “If you’re thinking about swapping your bod for money, go answer the door. He’s still loaded, right?”

  Tess nodded. “I haven’t checked lately, but knowing Nick and his affinity for money, he’s still loaded.”

  “Marry him,” Gina said.

  “No,” Tess said.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, to begin with, he hasn’t asked me,” Tess answered. “And he’s a Republican lawyer, so my mother would disown me. And then—” Tess frowned “—I always thought it would be a good idea to marry somebody who wouldn’t try to pick up the maid of honor at the reception. Call me crazy but—”

  “Since that would be me, you got no worries. Marry him.”

  “You don’t know Nick,” Tess said. “He could seduce Mother Teresa.” She cocked her head toward the door and listened for a moment. “And it doesn’t seem to be an option anymore. I think he got tired and left.” She tried hard not to be disappointed. After all, she’d had no intention of opening the door anyway.

  Still, it wasn’t like Nick to give up that fast, dangerous hallway or not. He must not have missed her that much, after all.

  Damn.

  NICK LEANED against the wall outside Tess’s door and analyzed the situation. Pounding was obviously not getting him anyplace, and his charm was bombing, too, which was a new experience for him. What the hell was wrong here? Maybe she was still mad, but she couldn’t be that mad. Not Tess. Tess erupted all over the place and then forgot about it. She’d never sulked in her life. So there was something else keeping her from falling at his feet. Nick grinned at the thought. Okay, she’d never fallen at his feet. But she’d never slammed a door in his face, either.

  She was upset about something.

  That wasn’t good. He liked Tess, and the thought of her being unhappy bothered him. He spared a fleeting thought of concern for her and then returned to his own problem.

  She wasn’t upset with him. She hadn’t slammed the door on him right away, so it was something else. Probably one of her lame ducks in trouble. And when he’d tried that dumb line about her looking great—when she actually looked like hell—she’d gotten exasperated and slammed the door. All right, so he deserved the door. Now all he had to do was get the door open again, give her a little sympathy, and he’d be in.

  If he waited half an hour and then knocked again, she might open it, thinking he’d gone away.

  And if he had flowers or candy or something…No. Not for Tess. Tess would not be impressed with generic peace offerings. He thought about the problem for another minute and then left, surveying the gloomy hall with contempt as he went.

  “I THINK you shoulda let him in,” Gina said. “Rich lawyers don’t grow on trees.” She flexed her right leg cautiously. “Hey, you got any muscle rub? My calves are killing me.”

  “I don’t have time to toy with Nick right now. I have to work on my plan.” Tess rose and walked the few steps across her tiny apartment to her bathroom, stepping over several sloppy stacks of books, a pile of mismatched socks, a bundle of partly graded essays and a half-finished poster that said I Read Banned Books. “I have a chance at a teaching job, but I don’t know if I can get it. I’m not really qualified for it, and it would be working with a bunch of rich kids, so they’d probably think I was an alien, but the money is good and the hours are great.”

  When she’d found the muscle cream, she went back out and handed it to Gina and then dropped back into her chair.

  Gina squirted the cream onto her fingers. “Go for it. It beats starving.” She winced as she rubbed the cream into her calf.

  Tess sat up, her job problems forgotten. “Are you all right? I thought this was just your usual dancer’s cramp.”

  “No, I’m not all right,” Gina said. “I’m thirty-five. I’m not snapping back like I used to.” She rubbed her calves again, frowning at the ache. “I’m starting to really hate the pain. I never liked it, but now I’m starting to hate it.”

  Tess wasn’t sure what to say. “How can I help?”

  Gina laughed. “You can’t. It’s age.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Tess began, but Gina waved her into silence.

  “Honey, I’m the Grandma Moses of the chorus line.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Tess said again. “You work all the time. You’re never out of a job. How many dancers can say that?”

  “I’m never out of a job because I always show up, I’m never sick, I never screw up, and I never leave the show in New Jersey to get married.” Gina stretched out her legs, the pain reflected in her face easing a little. “But that’s not gonna carry me forever.” She shrugged. “’Course, neither will my legs.” She stared at them as if they were something she’d picked up on sale and now regretted. “I don’t think I ever want to do another plié again.”

  “You’re joking.” Tess fell silent for half a second and then regrouped. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to get married,” Gina said.

  Tess sank back into her chair. “Married? This is new.”

  “Not really. I always wanted to get married,” Gina said wistfully. “I just wanted a career first.” She smiled a little. “Big career I got. Now I want some peace and quiet. Some security.” She looked at Tess, suddenly vulnerable. “You know, some love. I never found anybody on the road, which is no big surprise when I think about it. But now I’m ready. I want a house and kids and the whole bit.”

  “Is this because you never got out of the chorus?” Tess said. “Because think about all the people who never got in…”

  “I never wanted out of the chorus.” Gina flexed her legs again and winced. “I never wanted to be a star. I never wanted all that attention. I just wanted to be part of the show. And that’s what I want now. I don’t need some big, important guy. I just want to find a nice, unimportant guy and be part of his show.”

  “As a feminist, I should probably say something here,” Tess said. “But I won’t, because it’s your life.”

  “Thanks,” Gina said. “I appreciate that.”

  “I know some nice guys from the Foundation,” Tess said. “Of course they’re out of work now, but they’re…”

  Gina shook her head. “I can do this on my own, Tess. Forget about fixing my life.” She shot another look around the apartment. “You got your own to fix first, anyway.”

  “Me? I’m not ready to get married. I never even think about it.” Tess looked around the apartment, too. “Well, I hardly ever think about it.”

  Gina’s eyebrows shot up. “Hardly?”

  “Well, every now and then I have these fantasies where I wear an apron and say, ‘Hi, honey, how was your day?’ to somebody gorgeous who immediately makes love to me on the kitchen table.”

  Gina looked confused. “Sounds like Betty Crocker Does Dallas.”

  “I know.” Tess frowned. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a wife. I mean, I get lonely sometimes, and I start thinking about how nice it would be to be a homey sort of person and bake cherry pie for somebody, but then one thing leads to another and I’m having fantasies about somebody ripping off my apron and licking cherry juice off my body, and I lose my grip.” She focused back on Gina. “Besides, I can’t bake pie. So I don’t think about getting married much.”

  Gina scowled at her. “How could you get lonely? You think it’s your job to save everybody in the world. You gotta know more grateful people than—”

  “Well, sometimes it would be nice not to save everybody,” Tess said. “Sometimes I think it would really be nice to be taken care of and live in a house, instead of an apartment, and to have great sex every night.” Tess stopped. “I’ve got to get off this sex thing. It’s clouding my mind. The career, Tess, concentrate on the career.” She shook her head. �