Open and Shut by David Rosenfelt

her, and a smile that said she realized how absurdly ostentatious these surroundings were, but that was tough, because she was damn well going to enjoy them. She was funny, smart—and she touched my arm when she talked.
    I think we both knew from that night on that we were going to wind up together. School and family obligations conspired to keep us mostly apart over the next eight years, but we never lost touch. We'd even talk about our respective relationships, as if they were just passing, unthreatening fancies until we got back to the real thing. Each other.
    When I was in my third year of law school it somehow simultaneously dawned on us that the time was right, and we started dating seriously. Less than ten months later we were married, followed by a wedding reception, the cost of which could have fed Guatemala for three months.
    It seems too simplistic to say that we grew apart, that our respective lifestyles finally lost their capacity to blend together. But as near as I can tell, that's basically what happened, and when Nicole finally left me, the dominant feeling I was experiencing changed from sadness to relief.
    But now she's telling me that it's good to be together, and I'm buying into it. I made a lifelong commitment to this woman, and that is what I'm trying to fulfill. What this world needs are more honorable, responsible people like me.
    Now she has said that this feels right, and I raise my bottle of beer. “I'll drink to that. How's your father?”
    “Very busy. They're still hassling over that crime bill … trying to pass it before the summer recess. But he's really happy we're working things out.”
    A few days ago she said we were “trying” to work things out. I guess we must have succeeded while I wasn't paying attention.
    “My father would have been just as happy. It must be a father thing.”
    She nods as if that is sound wisdom. “Any luck with Nelson's mysterious money?”
    I shake my head. “Not yet. You know, all those years I thought I married you for your money, and now it turns out you married me for mine.”
    She laughs. “Twenty-two million dollars? To us Gants, that's tipping money.”
    She's joking, but not that far off. Nicole comes from real money, money so old it was originally called wampum.
    She leans forward seductively. It's a lean she has mastered. “But you rich men do excite me.”
    I give her a sexy lean of my own, but I'm not quite as good at it. “When I stand on my wallet I'm six foot four.”
    “What about when you're lying down?” she purrs.
    We haven't had sex since she came back, so there's more excitement here than I remember. We're like two kids teasing each other, but both knowing where it will wind up.
    “How about coming back to our place?” is my clever response. It seems to work pretty well, because the next thing I know we're back home, standing next to our bed, slowly undressing each other.
    Tara's outside the room, pawing at the door. Nicole has always felt uncomfortable having Tara in the room when we have sex. Right now I don't even hear Tara's whimpering; Nicole has my undivided attention. This is not feeling like a husband-wife thing, and I can sense she's a little nervous. Join the club.
    “Andy, I haven't been with anyone else since we separated.”
    “I know,” I respond. “I've had you followed.”
    I have this problem; I joke at inappropriate times. Also at appropriate times, though there don't seem to be that many of them anymore.
    “What about you?” she asks. “Have you been with anyone?”
    I nod, though she can't see me in the dark. “The Olympic girls’ volleyball team, Michelle Pfeiffer, the women's division of the Teamsters, the White sisters, Vanna, Betty, and Reggie—”
    She interrupts, which is just as well, since there's no telling how long I would have babbled on. “I had forgotten that about you,” she says.
    “What?”
    “You never shut up.”
    With that she prepares to shut me up, except for an occasional