“So, the red boxers, huh?” Fenny smiled. “Were you expecting a big night?”

“There’s always the hope when you’re in town,” Brad smiled back, taking the key from her and opening the door to her hotel room. She closed the door and carefully locked it behind them, and as she turned, Brad crushed his body against hers, pressing her to the door and capturing her in a hungry kiss. Although startled at first, she responded quickly, kissing back fervently, letting her hands roam downwards to rest on that perfect rear, imagining the red fabric promised to be underneath.

His attentions wandered to the tender spot he knew so well under her ear. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” she whispered back. Some tiny part of her brain was screaming at her that this was wrong, that he had a woman, a girlfriend, in his house waiting for him to come home. The rest of her brain was sighing contentedly, having convinced itself that Brad truly did love her, and that she could make him forget Ritza ever existed if just given the chance, and this looked as good a chance as any.

His hand was under her shirt, caressing the skin hidden beneath, slowly easing the fabric up in the hope that she would let him remove it for her. She was more than obliging…

They spent the night together, and it was as if nothing had ever changed. For that stretch of night before they fell asleep in each other’s arms, there was no Greg, no Ritza, no questioning the love they felt for each other. This was the way the world was supposed to be.

A pocketful of change fell to the floor. “Damn it.”

Fenny rolled over with a sleepy moan, ready to snuggle in the early morning sunlight. “Brad?” His body wasn’t where it was should have been. She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to clear them. His huddled form was on the floor, and she groped for her glasses on the nightstand. “What’re you doing?”

“Dropped something,” he grinned, picking up a handful of quarters.

“You’re leaving,” she announced. “You weren’t going to wake me up.”

“Well I, it’s just, I’ve got to go. There’s, um…”

“Ritza,” Fenny nodded, falling back onto the bed. “Of course.” She put her glasses back on the table and rolled away from him. It was 6:17, he probably wanted to get home before she woke up.

“Look, Fenny, let me explain,” Brad cooed, sitting on the bed.

She turned her head to look at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Um, well,” he began, floundering for an excuse he didn’t have. “You see…”

“Just go, Brad.” She lay back down, wondering how she got stuck with being ‘the other woman’ lately, wondering if he would make love to Ritza when he got home, if he would do the same things to Ritza that he had done to her, if he would hold her afterwards, trembling and mumbling loving words into her ear, if he had been thinking of Ritza when he was with Fenny. She felt utterly used, and felt an urge to take a cold shower.

She heard him pull on his pants, then he leaned over the bed and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek before he opened the door to leave. “I’ll see you later?”

“Maybe,” she sighed. The door closed. “What have I gotten myself into this time?”

As Fenny wandered up to Gina’s apartment, Brad’s song to her echoed through her mind. Even with all the jokes and the terrible rhyming, he had sounded so sincere. Then she remembered the last time she had been on that stage, how Ritza, spawn of Satan, had lashed out at her. The look on Brad’s face when he’d left that morning… She shook her head to clear it—time to deal with Gina’s problems—and knocked on the door.

“Oh, hey Fen,” Gina said as she opened the door. She looked unusually exhausted. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I thought maybe you might need some cheering up,” Fenny said with a hopeful smile. “My turn to return a favor.”

Gina let her in. “Want some tea? I’ve just poured myself some.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

They sat together on the couch a minute later, sipping at their cups, gathering their thoughts. Fenny broke the silence. “So, you wanna talk about Greg?”

“There’s not much to talk about, is there?” Gina asked. “I mean, he’s a married man, and I shouldn’t be interested in him. I’m not interested in him,” she said, trying to convince Fenny and, possibly, herself.

Fenny sighed. “You keep saying that, but it’s not gonna work with me. I saw how absolutely crushed you were when you saw him with his wife. And I saw the way you were looking at each other when he had his pants off.”

Gina let out a snort of laughter. “He really was bitten by a kid at McDonald’s.”

“That may be, but the point is, he had his pants off in your apartment.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Fenny,” Gina grumbled. “He’s married, there’s no way to work around it. So let’s drop it, huh?”

Fenny frowned at her. “You don’t exactly seem yourself today,” she remarked.

“Oh, just too much stuff going bad all at one time is all,” Gina sighed.

“Other stuff? Like what?”

“I’ve been a bit distracted to get any real good stories done. Everyone at work hates me still. And then there’s this, I dunno, function of some sort, a big fancy dinner party for the paper, journalists and photographers and advertisers and, I don’t really know, but I’m expected to show. And I don’t have a date. A room full of people who hate me, and no date, more fodder for jokes and abuse. Doesn’t that just sound like a great way to spend an evening?”

“There’s no way of getting out of it?” Fenny asked hopefully.

“Nope. I’ve already missed a lot of work, what with Greg…but they’d probably notice if I wasn’t at the party. They’ll be looking for someone to humiliate when they all get piss-ant drunk.”

“When’s this party happening?”

“Tonight, at the Beverly Hills Hotel of all places.”

“Ooh, an especially ritzy affair, huh?” Fenny asked, then decided she didn’t like that choice of words, it rang in her head, ‘Ritza’s affair.’ She frowned at herself.

“What’s wrong?” Gina asked.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Fenny breathed.

“What were you up to last night?” asked Gina. “I was kinda hoping you’d come over, we could’ve done some guy bashing together.”

“Um, well…” Fenny flushed and stammered.

“You were with Brad, weren’t you?”

“You sound like you’re accusing me of stepping on your hamster or something. But yes, maybe I was.”

“You didn’t do anything, did you?” Gina gasped. Fenny turned a deeper shade of pink and looked into her tea. “You slept with him!” Gina yelped.

Fenny looked up confused. “You’ve spent the last week telling me that he and I were supposed to be together, you should be pleased with yourself.”

“I, well…” The last thing Gina needed to do was spill the beans about Ritza and the ring, but she didn’t want Fenny to get too involved just to set herself up for more hurt. “I thought you were still miffed with him about this Australian hooker of his.”

Fenny took a moment to glare at Gina, even though she knew her friend was right, but she wasn’t in the mood to go into the details of her earlier escapades. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she declared.

“Just as well,” Gina said, “I’ve got to get to work.”

“I should go too, then.”

“I guess you’ll be sticking around for a while, now that you and Brad are back to fucking like bunnies?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Fenny said softly as she got up to leave, “but I’ll probably stay in town a while longer. Um, have fun at your party.”

“Yeah, right. See you later.”

“Hope so.”

Fenny dialed the number and waited patiently.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice—she wasn’t prepared for that. “May I speak with Mr. Proops please?” Fenny asked.

“May I say who’s calling?” Greg’s wife asked.

“I’m calling from—” Fenny realized she didn’t know which publication Gina worked for, then realized it probably didn’t much matter. “—the LA Daily News to reschedule yesterday evening’s interview.”

“Oh sure, just a second.” Fenny heard her mumbling before Greg’s voice rang in her ear, a bit confused.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me, Fenny,” she chirped.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” he hissed.

“I’m trying to reschedule your interview,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What’s with you and this interview kick?”

“Your interview with Gina. You know, the one about being bitten at Mickey D’s and that little scene backstage last night with your wife.”

“What are you talking about?” Greg demanded.

“Gina needs a date tonight to this dinner party thing for work,” Fenny said, giving up being clever. “And you’re taking her.”

“Like hell I am,” Greg barked. “Me in a room full of blood-sucking journalists? I think not.”

“Look Greg,” she began firmly, “Gina needs someone there tonight. She’s told me that everyone she works with despises her. You know, foreign chick comes over and blows ‘em outta the water ‘cause she’s the only one who knows what she’s doing. You know these flaky Angelino journalists, they’re all full of crap. She’s really dreading this party, and she can’t get out of it. Besides, you two have got some things to work through, from the looks of last night’s little meeting. Anyone could see that you and Gina want to be together. I know you want to go, to be with her, don’t even try to deny it, and you can put aside your hatred for the media for one night, can’t you? For Gina?”

“Since when is meek little ‘I have no control over my life’ Fenny taking charge of other people’s relationships?” Greg jeered teasingly.

“Just tell me you’ll go,” Fenny huffed.

He sighed into the phone. “Fine, sure, I’ll go,” he agreed reluctantly.

She filled him in on the details, they said their goodbyes, and Fenny flopped on the bed, staring at the blank page of her sketchbook, hoping she had done the right thing.