Yes, she was definitely worth a second look. Even a third.

And I am going to do it. All of it.

The fiery determination in her eyes made her even more attractive. A self-made woman. She'd gone from a girl who could only be described as a schlub, to a woman with Iimitless possibilities. "Martha, " he whispered, "I do believe I'm becoming infatuated. " Martha didn't look up. "That's cause there's beans in this stuff.

Gerry laughed out loud.

"But don't worry, " Martha said. "We can tell Gin about it. She'll make you better She's a doctor. ' '"No, no, " Gerry said, gently pressing a finger over her lips. "We won't tell Gin anything about it.

At least not yet." DUNCAN -)UNCAN AND BRAD STEPPED OUT OF IL GIARDINELLO INTO the sulfurous air of Georgetown's M Street. The traffic streaming in from Virginia was stop-and-go, and the carbon monoxide from the idling cars mixed with the light fog drifting up from the nearby Potomac. The concoction hung in the still fall air like a toxic pall.

They turned east and headed back toward the car, passing a gallimaufry of restaurants, bars, bistros, upscale clothing and jewelry stores, alternative music shops, and, yes, even a condom shop.

"Not a bad meal, ' Brad said.

"No, not bad at all if you like your pasta overcooked, your veal practically raw, air thick with smoke, and acoustics so bad you can barely hear yourself think. The service was dilatory and indifferent at best, the decor was like one of the Borgias' bad dreams, the wine list wouldn't pass on the Bowery, and the espresso . . . " He shuddered.

"Execrable." Suddenly he smiled. "I must remember to recommend the place to your mother." Brad gave his father a gentle punch on the shoulder. "Come on, now.

None of that."

"All right."

"I guess we won't be back here real soon."

"Of course we will. As soon as it changes its name, owner, and chef."

Brad only shook his head, smiling.

Duncan loved this boy, this young man, this good-natured twenty-something with his open face and guileless blue eyes, his long, lean body, his too-long brown hair, the way he never wore socks and never cinched his tie all the way up and never fastened the top button on his shirt.

Memories swirled around him like the leaves starting to drop from the trees, swimming lessons in grammar school, middle school science projects, the trauma of not making the varsity cut for the high-school basketball team, all the ups and downs of raising a child.

Somehow, he thought, we did all right with Brad. We weren't the best parents, what with our preoccupation with Lisa and all her problems, my own self-absorption, but somehow, in spite of everything, Brad turned out all right. A testament to the primacy of nature over nurture.

Impulsively, Duncan threw an arm around his son's shoulder and pulled him close. He wasn't given much to outward displays of affection, but God he loved this boy.

"Thanks for tolerating me." Brad put an arm around Duncan's waist.

"Somebody has to.

Each with an arm still around the other, they crossed Wisconsin and followed M Street's gentle down slope toward Rock Creek.

"So you're not disappointed? " Brad said.

"What do I have to do, " Duncan said, 'have it tattooed on my forehead?

No. En-oh. I am not disappointed."

"That's such an awesome relief, I can't tell you." Brad had told him he wanted to get together and talk about the future, his plans for his own future. Duncan had suggested dinner. њt turned out Brad hadn't so much wanted to discuss what he planned to do with his future, as what he planned not to do.

And he did not plan to go to medical school.

Years ago, before his public lapidation by the Guidelines committee, before managed care snared the medical profession in its tendrils, Duncan would have been bitterly disappointed .

But tonight he was almost thrilled.

"Why should I be upset because you don't want to spend another eight-to-ten years in brain-busting study for the privilege of answering to panels of political appointees? The only thing medicine's got going for it anymore is job . , , security.

'"Yeah. People will always need doctors, I guess." "That they will.

But the doctor-patient relationship is eroding. There used to be an almost sacred bond between a doctor and a patient that no one could break. The examination room was the equivalent of a confessional. The intimate secrets that used to be hieroglyphically recorded in our crabbed shorthand and hermetically sealed behind the inviolable walls of our offices are now open to any government or insurance company hireling who wants to see them."

"So I've got to be careful what I tell my doctor."

"-Damn right. And for your sake he's got to be choosy about what he sets down on paper. ' "Sounds pretty grim. But none of that's why.

The main reason is it's just not my thing." He gave Brad's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just what is? " '"I don't know, Dad. I just don't know." Duncan sighed. So many of this so-called Generation X seemed to have no-idea what they wanted or where they were going. Duncan couldn't understand that. All his life he'd wanted to be a doctor.

He'd set a course for it when he was a child.

Never could he recall even an instant of uncertainty.

Maybe that was why he felt such kinship with Gin. She was as determined to do things her way as he'd been at her age. Her way wasn't his, but he could forgive her that, she'd see the error of her ways. She was almost like a daughter. Maybe he'd subconsciously slipped Gin into the empty place within that he'd reserved for Lisa.

Yes . . . like a daughter. After all, he'd given her life in a way, sewing her insides back together.

But not knowing the next step . . . the anxiety that had to cause.

What uncertainties roiled through Brad when he lay in bed at night, asking the dark where his life was headed?

"Whatever you decide, I'm behind you. Any time you, " "Faggots! " Duncan started at the word and glanced around. To his right, three shadowy figures slouched in predatory poses in a darkened recessed doorway, each with a bottle or can of some sort in hand. Light from the street reflected from their bare scalps. He kept walking.

"Skinheads, " Brad whispered and began to pull his arm from around Duncan's waist.

Duncan grabbed his wrist. "Don't you dare." "Dad, they think we're, " "Are you going to let them be the arbiters of how a father and son can walk down the street? " "I know how you are with the never complain, never explain stuff, but these guys are crazy." Duncan reached his free hand into his jacket pocket and wrapped his fingers around the metal cylinder there.

"Maybe I'm crazier." The M Street-Wisconsin Avenue area had always been the tacky section of Georgetown. A farrago of trendily overpriced boutiques, bars, clubs, and evanescent restaurants ranging from upscale ethnic cuisine to Little Tavern Hamburgers, peopled by roaming demimondaines and boulevardiers in search of something called fun.

Folksingers had peopled the cafes in the early sixties, giving way to the hippies at the end of the decade. Discos came and went in the seventies. Through it all, the Georgetown street people had upheld a noble tradition of remaining determinedly dissolute but generally good-natured.

Until lately. Strolling the area these days was like navigating a third world bazaar. The boutiques bedizening Wisconsin's terminal slope were cheaper and gaudier, nobody seemed to speak English or be on speaking terms with a bar of soap, and lumpen denizens panhandled on every corner. The slovens of the grunge cadre were as unwashed as the hippies of old, but they lacked the latter's sense of style and humor.

The atmosphere was as blowzy as ever, but the mood had turned grim.