Willy put his arm around me and guided me over to my chair against the wall. “Sit down, Paige,” he urged. “Our cocktails have been delivered and our dinner will be here soon. Dry your eyes, have some more champagne, and tell me what happened.” He was doing his best to comfort me, but nothing could.

“No, Willy!” I cried. “I’ve got to get out of here! Right now!” I grabbed my purse off the table and tried to step around him.

But he wouldn’t move out of my way. “My God, Paige, what happened to you? I won’t let you leave like this. You’re too upset! You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong! Abby’s still over at Kazan’s table. Should I go get her?”

Suddenly reminded that I’d sent Abby to snoop on the suspects, I shot a glance in her direction to see what was happening. It was just as I’d expected. She was seated at the table-in Rhonda’s chair between Baldy and Binky-striking a sexy pose, talking a blue streak, and twirling her cigarette holder through the air like a magic wand. Bippity, boppity, boo. All four men were watching her every move and hanging on her every word, completely under her spell.

“No,” I said to Willy between blubbers. “Let Abby stay where she is. She might learn something important. But I’ve got to go!” I wailed. “Please let me out! I don’t want Dan to see me here!”

“Dan?” Willy sputtered. “Your boyfriend? Is

he here?”

“Yes!” I cried, tears starting to gush again. “And he’s with a woman. I saw him

kissing her! Oh, please let me pass, Willy.

If I see them again, I’ll die. And if he sees me, I’ll kill myself. I’ve got to go home this minute!”

“Okay, I’ll go with you,” he said. “Just let me pay the bill first.”

“No!” I screeched. “I can’t wait! And we can’t run out and leave Abby here by herself. You’ve got to stay with her. You two should drink your cocktails, enjoy your dinner, and see what you can find out about the murder. I’m going home now to cry myself to sleep.” I elbowed Willy out of the way and brushed past him. “Tell Abby I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

I was at the Sardi’s exit in an instant, and out the door a split second later. And one breathless moment after that, I was running like a madwoman for the subway-with my broken heart in my throat and the Rita Hayworth wig in my hand.

LOOKING BACK, I WISH I’D LEFT THE wig on my head. Then the dark-haired man in black clothing might not have recognized me or followed me home. And then he wouldn’t have seen me let myself into my building and go upstairs to my apartment. And then maybe he wouldn’t have hidden himself in the recessed, pitch-black entrance of the building across the street and begun watching my apartment like a hawk-or some other deadly predator.

In which case, I never would have sensed his presence behind me on Bleecker, or run to the window and peeked through the blinds the minute I got upstairs to my apartment. And I wouldn’t have seen him duck into the doorway and stay there, becoming as much a part of the darkness as the shadows around him. And I certainly wouldn’t have crouched on the floor by my living room window for over an hour, crying my eyes out over Dan and peering through the blinds (and my tears) at the street, waiting for the man to step out of the doorway so I could get a glimpse of his face.

Will it be Blackie’s sullen mug or Aunt Doobie’s pretty puss? I asked myself, dead certain it would be one or the other, and totally determined-with all the tiny pieces of my hopelessly shattered heart-to keep watch until I could make a positive identification.

I might have succeeded, too, if Abby hadn’t come home around twenty past three and started banging on my door with both fists. “Open up, Paige!” she shouted. “Let me in! I want to talk to you! I know you’re crying instead of sleeping, so don’t try to pretend anything different!”

I was both upset and relieved. Upset that Abby was interrupting my strict surveillance vigil, and relieved that I wouldn’t have to be alone in the building anymore. (If the stalker-i.e., possible

murderer-had crept across the street and tried to get into my apartment, I would have keeled over and died on the spot!) Groaning under my breath, I jumped up and ran to the door, unlocked it and flung it wide, then hurried back to my station by the window.

“What the hell is going on here?” Abby bellowed, marching into the room like a soldier on patrol. “What are you doing? Why is it so dark? I’m turning on the lights.”

“No, don’t!” I hissed. “I won’t be able to see out, and I don’t want him to see in. And keep your voice down! The windows are open. He might be able to hear us.”

“Who are you talking about? Blackie? Has he come back again?” She tossed her purse on the kitchen table and scrambled over to join me on the floor by the window. “Where is he? Let me see!” She nudged me aside and stuck her nose through the gap between the blinds and the windowsill. “Oh, there he is!” she shrieked. “I see him! He hopped out of a doorway across the street and he’s running down toward Seventh Avenue.”

“Oh, no!” I sputtered, madly yanking the blinds away from the open window and leaning out over the ledge. The man was halfway down Bleecker already. All I could see was the back of his black-clad body as he ran past a street lamp.

“Jesus, Abby!” I growled, backing away from the windowsill and out from under the venetians. “I’ve been squatting here all night, peeping through these stupid blinds forever, never taking my eyes off the creep’s hiding place for a second! All I needed was one quick look at his face. Then I would have known, once and for all, if the man was Blackie or Aunt Doobie! So what do you do? You bust in and push me away from the window at the very moment he reveals himself. You screwed up the whole thing!”

“But I didn’t mean to!” she cried, getting defensive. “I was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, next time you want to help me, please do me a favor and

don’t.” I pushed myself up from the floor, turned on the table lamp, and plopped down on the couch in a huff. “How did you think you were going to help me anyway?”

She made a petulant face. “Well, I know what Blackie looks like, you know! I saw him in Stewart’s Cafeteria the same day you did. So I wanted to see if he’s the one who’s been following you.”

“And

did you?” I asked, dashed hopes rising again. “Did you get a good look at the guy’s face?”

“Not really,” she said, bowing her head in embarrassment. “You can’t see very much through these sunglasses.” She took the dark specs off her nose and meekly folded them in her hand.

That was when I started laughing.

It wasn’t normal laughter, you should know-not the bubbly, congenial kind brought on by a funny joke or a humorous situation. It was crazy laughter-the fierce, frenetic kind that comes from a place of deep trouble and pain (i.e., more of a howl than a hoot). It was the kind of laughter that, after a brief spell of hysterical cackling, turns into an all-out crying jag.

When I stopped laughing and started sobbing Abby jumped up from the floor and sat next to me on the couch. She threw her arms around me and squeezed hard. “Go ahead, Paige,” she cooed, still hugging me tight, “let it all out. Under circumstances like these, crying is the best release. Maybe the only release.”

“Willy told you what happened?” I yowled. “Do you know about-”

“Yes,” she broke in, “I know all about it.” She took a deep breath and squeezed me even harder. “I still don’t believe it, though. I’m in shock. I never thought Dan would behave this way.”

“M-m-me neither,” I blubbered, shoulders shaking so violently I felt they would collapse. “Oh, Abby! I’m so hurt… so devastated… I’ll never get over this!”

“Oh, yes you will,” she said, releasing her hold and patting me on the back. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but it isn’t. There are worse things than losing a man.” Abby meant her assurances to be soothing, but they weren’t. How could I take comfort in her words when I knew she didn’t believe them herself? “And besides,” she added, standing up from the couch and pacing around the living room, petticoats swishing with every step, “how do you know that kiss was real?”