A Fashionable Affair by Joan Wolf Page A

Cayman Islands.”
    “In my name? Oh, no, you just explained there was no name.” Patsy pushed a stray piece of hair off her forehead. “Well, then, the bankbook must have been Fred’s.”
    “Yes,” Michael said in that same expressionless tone. “That’s what I figured.” He stopped at a light and turned to find her regarding him worriedly. He smiled. “I don’t want to drive home in this traf fic, and I owe you a dinner. Is there a restaurant where we can go dressed like this?”
    Patsy’s brow smoothed out. “Of course. Luigi’s. The best Italian food in New York.”
    “Luigi’s. How original.”
    “That’s really the owner’s name,” Patsy said serenely. “And wait until you taste his cooking.”
    Luigi was always thrilled to see Patsy, and he put forth his best efforts in her behalf. It was almost nine when she and Michael left the restaurant, and they had done a lot of filling in of those seven years during which they hadn’t seen each other.
    They walked slowly along the sidewalk toward her apartment, still talking easily.
    “Come up for a nightcap?” she offered as they reached the car, which her doorman had parked in front of her building for them.
    Every other man Patsy knew would have jumped at the invitation; Michael merely shook his head. “Thanks, but I’d better be getting home. I’ll have to work twice as hard tomorrow for taking the after noon off today.”
    “I suppose you will,” Patsy said a little forlornly.
    They had stopped next to his car, and Michael reached up and tilted her face toward the glow of a streetlamp. She looked at him, acutely aware of his strong, slender fingers lying so lightly on the curve of her jaw.
    “I have theater tickets for tomorrow night,” he said softly, “and, like you, I recently broke up with the person I’ve been going with.” His eyes were half-hidden by his lashes. “Would you like to go?”
    “Yes,” Patsy answered instantly.
    She could see him clearly in the light, but she could not read the expression in his narrowed green-gold eyes. A faint smile touched his mouth. “They’re for The Real Thing” he said.
    “Great. I haven’t seen it yet.”
    The pressure of his fingers on her jaw increased infinitesimally. He bent his head and kissed her, casually and gently. “I’ll pick you up at seven- fifteen,” he said, and turning away, unlocked his car door.
    The doorman of her building, who had been an interested witness to the scene, moved forward, and Patsy turned to him. “Good evening, Howard,” she said. “Thanks for parking the car for us. How ever do you always manage to find a spot right in front of the building?”
     

Chapter Six
     
    Patsy had her delayed lunch with the movie agent on Friday and then did some shopping. At Saks she bought a lovely spring-green silk dress by Bill Blass and a new pair of evening sandals with heels lower than those she usually wore. She went home, showered, had a light supper, and put on the new dress. She brushed her hair away from her face and high up on the back of her head, with just a few ringlets falling artistically along the white slender- ness of her neck. When she had finished, she sur veyed herself in the mirror. The slim bodice and waist of the dress fit her perfectly and the full, soft skirt fell gracefully to just below her knees. Patsy thought with satisfaction of the luck that had made her a perfect size eight and went into the living room to wait for Michael.
    He was on time and they decided to leave his car with Howard and take a cab to the theater. Michael’s tickets were for the third row in the mez zanine.
    Patsy draped her lightweight coat around the back of her seat and sat down, calmly ignoring the stares she was provoking from all sides.
    “Sorry it’s not the orchestra,” Michael murmured into her ear.
    “Don’t be smug,” she returned imperturbably, and he gave her a quick sideways grin. He was wearing the same light-gray suit she had seen on him the