So I guess I was outvoted, two to one, on the question of a sexual triangle. I said, "All right, Frank. Subject closed. Open the door for me." He opened my bedroom door, and carrying the ice bucket and scotch, I went inside and kicked the door shut, then put the scotch and bucket on a cocktail table. Jenny Alvarez said, "Are you sure I'm not interrupting business?"

"I'm sure. Make yourself comfortable. Have a seat."

We sat in the two facing club chairs in the corner with the drinks on the cocktail table between us.

As I put ice in our glasses, I noticed that my hand was a little unsteady. Confronting one's wife with an accusation of adultery was a little tense, but confronting the other man, especially when the guy was a killer, was not one of life's better moments. But I felt strangely at peace, as if I'd gotten rid of a great burden and put it on the people who'd stuck me with it in the first place. I mean, if you analysed it with cold logic, it really wasn't my problem, unless I chose to make it so. Still, I knew that the cold logic would eventually give way to more basic feelings such as heartache, pain, betrayal, jealousy, and other standard marital miseries. But tonight, I felt on top of things, and I had a drinking companion.

Jenny Alvarez said, "Nice suite. Crime pays."

I replied, "Thanks for laying off Bellarosa."

"I came up here to have a drink with you."

"Right." Cynic though I am, I believed her, and it felt good to believe what someone said for a change. I mixed us scotch and sodas, and we touched glasses and drank. I have to be honest with you; I was nervous. I said, "Don't you have to be on the air or something?"

"You're my only assignment tonight. But since you're not going on the air, neither am I. But I'll call in later." She added, "Late enough so they can't get me on something else before airtime. So I'm free tonight. Feels good." Well, I mean, she rearranged her whole schedule, you know, so she could have a drink with me. So what was I supposed to do? Kick her out after one drink? Get room service to deliver a Monopoly game? I cleared my throat. "I'm very flattered."

She smiled. Oh, those lips. I have to tell you, I'm not usually into Latin beauties, but this woman was absolutely gorgeous. She had a soft brown complexion, dark eyes that sparkled, and thick black hair that cascaded over her shoulders. When she smiled, she had dimpled cheeks that I wanted to pinch. She said, "You're separated, I understand."

"I hadn't heard that."

"Well, I did."

"From whom?"

"People out where you live."

"Is that a fact? I didn't even know that."

She smiled. "Most men would just say yes to that question under these circumstances."

"I'm not most men. I'm into truth. Are you married?"

"I was. I had a baby on TV. Remember? Two years ago." I seemed to recall some mawkish and tasteless coverage of the progress of her pregnancy and final delivery. But I don't watch much TV news, and until now I didn't even realize that this was the same woman. I replied, "I do remember that. TV cameras in the delivery room. Sort of vulgar." She shrugged. "Not for television."

"I also seem to recall a proud father."

"I'm divorced now."

"So no more babies on television."

She smiled. "Not for a while."

We chatted a bit, but I watched my consumption of scotch, in the event I had to rise to the occasion. I can't do it when I'm loaded, which is frustrating because that's usually when I want to do it the most. Alcohol is a cruel drug. I said, "Look, I asked you up here to cover myself with those two goons.

Understand?"

"I think so. Do you want me to fake orgasmic noises, then leave?" "Well… no. I enjoy your company. But… I just wanted you to know why I invited you here."

"So now I know. Do you know why I accepted the invitation?"

"You find me interesting."

"That's right. Very interesting. Intriguing. You intrigue me."

"Well, that's good news. You may not believe this, but I used to be dull."

"That's not possible." She smiled. "When was that?"

"Oh, back in March, April. I was really dull. That's why my wife left me."

"You said you didn't know anything about that."

"Well, I haven't been home in a few days. Maybe I should call my answering service."

But I didn't. We talked about this and that, bantered and teased, but we never talked about Frank Bellarosa. However, it occurred to me that there was more than one way to put a knife into his heart. I mean, I could use this woman as a conduit to the news media. I could remain anonymous, and she would vouch for the reliability of her source. I could feed the media all sorts of things that could put Frank Bellarosa into jail or into the grave. And that would take me off the hook for the perjured alibi, and Bellarosa would be out of my life. I mention this because it did cross my mind. I guess I had been hanging around Bellarosa too long. But I was determined not to let my life become obsessed with vendetta the way his was. Whatever he had done to me, he had to live with it, and perhaps one day, he would answer for it. Vengeance is.mine, saith the Lord. So I dismissed my thoughts of revenge (for the moment) and got back to the business at hand. I said to Jenny Alvarez, "There's no payoff, you know. I mean, even if you spend the night, I'm not telling you anything."

"I told you I'm here because I want to be with you. I don't really give sex for stories and you don't really proposition women who need something from you. That was a game downstairs."

"And it's another game up here. And I'm out of practice." "You're doing fine. I'm still interested. By the way, did you see yourself on TV?"

"Sure did."

"Your hair was messy."

"I know. And my tie looked the wrong colour, but it wasn't. I can show you the tie."

"Oh, I believe you. That happens on TV sometimes."

The phone rang, but I didn't answer it. Jenny made a call to her studio and told them she was through for the night. I had a club soda, and she had another scotch. We both kicked our shoes off at some point. There was a TV in the bedroom and we watched her news show at eleven. The Bellarosa story got a minute, mostly reports about the published stories in the newspapers, including my press statements. Ferragamo, who was good at the ten-second sound bite, said, "We are investigating Mr Bellarosa's alibi for the day in question, and if we find evidence that contradicts that alibi, we will ask that bail be rescinded, and we will take Mr Bellarosa into custody again, and we will consider action against the individual who supplied the alibi."

Ten seconds on the head. The man was a pro.

Ms Alvarez inquired, "He means you, doesn't he?"

I replied, "I think so."

"What sort of action? What can they do to you?"

"Nothing. I was telling the truth."

"So the five other witnesses were lying? No, don't answer. No business. It's a habit. Sorry." She seemed lost in thought, then blurted out, "But it just doesn't make sense, John."

"Does it make sense that Frank Bellarosa would commit murder in broad daylight?"

"No, but… you're sure you saw him?"

"Is this on the record?" '

"No, off the record."

"Okay… I'm positive it was him."

She smiled. "If you're going to keep talking business, I'm leaving." ' "My apologies."

The sports came on, and I was delighted to discover that the Mets trounced Montreal again, nine to three. "They're going all the way," I said. "Maybe. But the Yankees will take the first four of the Series."

"The Yankees? They're lucky if they finish the season."

"Baloney," she said. "Have you seen the Yankees this year?"

"There's nothing to see."

We discussed this for a few minutes, and though I could tell she was knowledgeable, it was obvious that she was very biased. I explained, "They don't have one long-ball hitter on the team."