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By David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)

Toni Lindroth, once Toni La Rocca and now Toni Lindroth again, passed the last of the newly signed documents back across the desk.
"Is that it?"
Anita Ruger, her counsellor in law, nodded. "All signed, sealed and delivered. Your divorce is final and you're a free woman again. Welcome to all the joys of being a single NBCR female in Manhattan."
"NBCR?"
"No birthday candles required."
Toni smiled ruefully
"Over the hill or not, I'll take a break before I start picking up the threads. I've been promising myself a good long holiday in Europe when the chance came. But before I start packing I'd like to thank you for everything you've done, Anita. You've been a great lawyer and a true friend."
Anita tapped the papers together in a neat pile with her long fingernails. "I hope you feel the same way when you get my bill. Divorce is always an expensive option."
"Is that why you've never married yourself? It seems odd that a gal as good looking as you has never gotten herself hitched."
Anita had a set answer for such questions one delivered with just the same sort of painful smile as Toni's. "Earlier on I guess I was too busy building a career. And now well, now is now."
"But you like men?"
"I like them fine for one thing they're all so predictable. They make a pass at me, they find out I'm a female lawyer specialising in divorce settlements and they all respond the same way: one hand over their wallet, the other one over their balls and then backing off towards the nearest exit as fast as they can. It doesn't help either that my legal associates keep on referring to me as the Wicked Witch of the East Side."
"Well that's your own fault for boasting about your apartment's history. But there's something I'd like to talk about with you before I go. I guess I'm finding it hard to open the subject up I feel kind of shy about it."
The lawyer raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. Toni was tall and darkly beautiful with a very strong personality and a track record of running her own highly successful public relations business. She'd also gone after her ex-husband's assets with an aggressiveness which would have made a starving shark look shy. All in all, it was difficult to believe that Toni Lindroth could be diffident about discussing any kind of subject.
"You see, Anita, I'm going to ask you to do something for me which sounds as if I'm asking a favor from you, but it's not quite what it sounds like on the surface. I can't tell you anymore though I'd just like you to trust me the same way I've trusted you all through the divorce."
Anita held her hands out to show her willingness to go along with whatever Toni wanted. After all, it was true that she'd become a friend as well as a client.
"No problem. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like you to look after Beech for me while I'm away, please."
Anita tried to hide her true feelings. As dogs went Beech was about as good as they came, a placid natured basset hound with the permanently mournful expression of all his breed. But as far as the lawyer was concerned dogs, cats and anything else in the way of domestic animals could pass straight through without stopping anywhere near her. And especially not in her beautiful apartment.
"I'm not really a pet person, Toni. Not in the city, anyway. My horse upstate is good enough for me."
"Believe me, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Beech is totally house trained and you wouldn't have to walk him. My dog person would stop by every night about seven p.m. to do that. And it's only for a week or two."
Anita gritted her teeth, decided to add an appreciable amount to Toni's settlement bill and eventually conceded defeat: "OK, but just remember that I didn't push myself forward for this job. Is your dog walker usually on time?"
"To the second. Tristan's always on time. I've got to dash now but the pair of them will be around to the park tonight to drop off Beech. OK?"
"OK." Privately, Anita was wondering how she'd managed to become a lawyer at all if she could be sweet talked into such a stupid deal. Conned by a client! It was a disgrace.
Even the passage of several hours and the solace of a martini did little to sooth Anita's irritation with herself. A fine thing if she couldn't get away at the weekend to practice her dressage because of some lousy mongrel. She stood at the window in her apartment which gave the best view over Gramercy Park, a view which usually cheered her up but which was doing nothing for her mood tonight. The brunette with the sharp eyes and tight lipped mouth reflected in the darkening glass was doing really well a solid legal career, a rapidly expiring use by date and the only meaningful relationship she had was giving an occasional sugar lump to a horse. Oh yes, and now she could look forward to sharing her gossip with a sad assed basset hound.
Which reminded her of another thing. Tristan, for God's sake! Was she going to have to try to make sense of some Hispanic girl's explainations in Spanish about Beech's likes and dislikes? Damn Toni for letting her in for this and damn herself for letting it happen.
The intercom buzzer sounded exactly at seven. Well, at least the wretched girl was on time.
"Hello."
"Ms Ruger? I've brought Beech over."
Anita's spine quivered. The voice she was listening to sounded exactly like Sean Connery's when he was still 007. What the hell? She selected the video display, nearly spilling the remains of the martini in her rush.
Six foot and more, bulging out of a leather jacket at the shoulders and arms and not a surplus inch around the trim waistline. Neatly cut fair hair, a facial profile like an Air Force recruiting poster, andtwenty one or two at a guess. This was Toni's dog person?
"Jesus Christ!" Anita whispered.
"I'm sorry, Ms Ruger, I didn't catch that."
"Uh yeah, right. Come on up. You know the number."
"Yes, I've got your number, Ms Ruger."
And Anita asked herself how come he'd got it? Was this some kind of joke by Toni? Was this guy a strippergram guy and the dog only an excuse to get in? But it was definitely Beech's portly shape dragging its ears on the sidewalk beside him and Toni would never have turned her beloved dog over to some guy she'd just rented from an agency. What the hell was the deal here? Or was she getting a distorted picture from the surveillance camera, maybe from the high angle? Maybe this guy was really only four foot tall and had more body odour than a dead goat?
The first question was answered as soon as she opened the door his body filled the doorway as if it had been designed for the job without an inch to spare. The shoulders of the leather jacket almost brushed the frame on either side, the tight fitting denim jeans would have made two pairs for Anita and the top of her head didn't even reach his Adam's apple. Anita wondered about his other Adam specific anatomy, a passing thought rapidly overborne by a more immediate concern that maybe it hadn't been a very smart move to let Terminator Three into her apartment. But he was smiling gently at her with that soap-opera-leading-man face. And when he knelt down to unfasten Beech's lead the dog licked his hands with obvious affection. Then he stood up again and slid off a backpack.
"I've brought along Beech's basket, some food for him and a couple of other things. Maybe you've got somewhere I could put them down where they'll be out of the way?"
"Yeah, sure, this way."
'I wasn't wrong, he does have a brogue like Sean Connery. Where had Toni dug this character up from and what the hell was she going to find in Europe that was better than this?'
"Tristan. Is that really your name?"
"I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, I should have introduced myself. Yes, I'm Tristan, Tristan Yorstan. My mother got the stupid name from a TV series."
"Well, nice to meet you, Tristan. I'm Anita. Can I ask what TV series that was?"
"It was about some vets in Yorkshire. Tristan was one of them and my mum decided she'd take the name without bothering about copyright."
Tristan grinned like an embarrassed kid and knelt down on the kitchen floor to begin unpacking the back pack.
"No reflection on your mother, Tristan, but it kind of sounds to me like that Johnny Cash number about a boy called Sue. I was expecting a girl to come round."
He chuckled: "I guess it's one of those things. To tell the truth, every time I look at my birth certificate I feel lucky. Tristan's brother in the TV series was called Siegfried. Being called Siegfried Yorstan is a heavy load to carry through life."
He opened a packet of dog biscuits and poured them into a bowl then took another bowl from the pack. "There wouldn't be any water at all, would there?"
"Surely." She took the bowl from his hand. "You're British, Tristan?"
"Ah, well. British by passport, Scottish by nationality and forever and always an Orcadian."
"Orcady is that a place in Scotland?"
Tristan smiled and patted Beech's head as the dog began gobbling up the biscuits: "An Orcadian is someone who lives on the Orkney Islands, Ms Ruger. Orcady is a planet in the galaxy Alpha Centauri occupied by green skinned monsters with long tentacles who keep pestering George Lucas to shoot the next episode of Star Wars in their solar system."
Anita felt the tension slipping out of her stomach as she smiled back without reservation: "Oh dear, I've made a fool of myself. I guess geography never was my strong point. And please call me Anita."
"OK, Anita, the next time you meet an Orcadian you'll know that the Orkneys are a group of islands just off the northern tip of Scotland." Tristan was still smiling.
"If it makes you feel any better, when the Falkland Islands were invaded we had an urgent phone call from a London newspaper editor asking us if the Argentinians had landed on the Orkneys as well. We never did find out if he thought the Orkneys were near South America or if he was under the impression that Galtieri was attacking Scotland."
Anita chuckled, trying to keep from spilling the water bowl. Tristan carefully took it from her hands and put it down on the floor. "There, that should keep Beech happy for a while. Will it be OK if I come around at the same time tomorrow to walk him or would another time suit better?"
"Oh I guess this time of day would be fine. Would you like a cup of coffee, Tristan?"
"I'd love one, if it's no trouble."
"No trouble at all. Go through and take a seat in the lounge."
"The kitchen might be better, my shoes are a little dirty. Can I sit in here."
"Surely. Yorstan I don't think I've heard that name before either."
"It's probably Norwegian. The Vikings owned the Orkneys until the fifteenth century. I suppose they must have been very desirable properties when the Gulf Stream was warmer than it is now. There are monuments on the islands that were already old when the pyramids were being built in Egypt."
Vikings! Anita had a sudden picture flash across her mind, an image of Tristan in chain mail and a sword in his hand, blood stained and triumphant in battle, seeking the traditional Viking booty of pillage and rape the cup on the saucer in her hand rattled and she stared at it in disbelief.
'Get a grip on yourself, girl! This isn't happening and you're not going weak at the knees just because of some Scots hobo who happens to walk some stupid dog.'
"That's interesting. So how long have you been in New York?"
"Only a month. I was working as a crewman on a ferry boat between Stromness and the Scottish mainland but the company went broke. There wasn't much else in the way of jobs around and I'd been talking to a guy on the internet for a while who lived in New York. He said if I ever wanted to come over for a holiday I could stay at his place. So when I came to work one day and there was no job anymore I decided I'd come over and take a look at the big apple and see what it was like. A kind of a holiday before I went into serious job hunting mode."
Anita switched on the coffee maker and leaned forward on the kitchen counter. "So how come you're walking Toni's dog?"
"Ah, I'd have to be explaining that when I got here it turned out to terrible timing. The guy who'd invited me over happened to have a new girl friend move in with him almost the very day I arrived on his doorstep, which was not a convenient situation for anybody you'll be understanding, with him living in such a small apartment. The girl herself was very nice about it and asked me to stay on for a while, but it wouldn't answer. So I had a scout around with my guide book and managed to rent a room down in alphabet city on the Lower East Side. But what with having to pay rent and with all the attractions here in Manhattan I was soon running out of money and needed to find work. Except that being only a visitor I wasn't supposed to be working. It was a real puzzle, especially being so new in such a big place and wandering around as lost as Crocodile Dundee ever was."
"Oh, I see. Sit down, sit down."
Anita could have sworn she heard the antique chair groan underneath his weight as Tristan settled on it and leaned forward to scratch Beech's head. The dog whined with pleasure: it occurred to Anita that she might well do the same herself if given the same treatment.
"So what happened?"
"Well, I saw all these people walking their dogs and I remembered I'd heard once of people who were paid to walk pets for owners who were too busy to do it themselves. So I thought that maybe I could get a few dollars together in that way without the immigration people being any the wiser. I had some cards printed saying what a fine dog walker I was. Not having a telephone number I put my Hotmail e-mail address on them and I bought myself a cap."
Tristan smiled and pulled out a knitted GI cap from his pocket: "Being that this is New York, I thought that if I had something on my head I could take it off as a sign of respect when I stepped up with a card and that it would show people that I meant them no harm especially all those fine looking ladies like yourself."
'I'm a career advocate, you big handsome lug, and flattery is going to get you absolutely nowhere except into my pants.'
"So what happened when you handed out the cards?"
"Oh, I was very nervous. I tried a couple of men and they seemed not so happy about the idea at all but the ladies were wonderful. Every single one of them smiled at me, would you believe?"
'Oh, I believe, I believe. The big dumb bastard is wandering around in a city full of women who'd kill to get their hands on a guy like this and he doesn't even realise he's raw meat in the jungle.'
"And Toni was one of them one of the women you gave a card?" Anita began pouring the coffee. "How do you like it?"
"White and one sugar, please. Yes, when I checked my email account at a cyber cafe later on I couldn't believe I'd got several answers. I thought I'd better start out with just one, to see how things went, and it was Ms Toni's answer I followed up first."
Anita put down his coffee on the table. "And have you walked anybody else's dog yet?"
Tristan's eyes dropped. "Er, no. Things have been a bit well, a bit busier than I expected."
'I'll bet they have! Poor Toni, sitting in my office looking all sad about the end of her marriage and with this hulk trotting around to her apartment every day to screw her until her eyes pop out. And if that's a presumption of guilt it's one I'd back with every dollar I've ever earned since I left law school Jesus, look at this kid, he's practically blushing. And if Toni's been teaching him everything she knows the poor schmuck probably should be blushing.'
"So how long have you been walking Beech now?"
"Only a week."
'Only a week they've been at it each other for only a week and Toni's had to go to Europe to recover! And she's sent her dog and her lover round to me to have and to hold until she gets her breath back. Or have I got the whole deal totally wrong?'
"And how do you like New York, Tristan?"
"It's fascinating. I've always liked watching films and it seems that almost everywhere I go in Manhattan I find a place I've seen on the pictures. And I've never seen so many cinemas in one place as there are here." He paused, his cup suspended halfway between mouth and saucer. "Talking about films, can I ask why you have that picture of a witch hanging up near your door?"
"Ah, have you seen the movie it came from?"
Tristan looked at her as if it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard: "Of course I have. So has everybody.It's a still from 'The Wizard of Oz'."
"That's right. It's a picture of Margaret Hamilton who played the Wicked Witch in the movie. She used to live in this apartment."
"She lived here?" Tristan was looking around him with wide eyed reverence. "She lived here, in this very apartment?"
"It was quite a while ago."
"Yes, but that's nothing is it? I mean that film will never be forgotten, never. And one of the people who was in it lived right here?" Tristan shook his head as if in disbelief. "That's New York for you. Everywhere else you watch movies, here you seem to be in one, more times than not."
Anita smiled at his innocent naivete. He was really just a big kid or at least he probably had been until Toni got her hands on him.
"Well, if you're really into movies, you should keep your eyes open in this neighborhood and you may see some familiar faces."
"Why, are there some movie stars still living here?"
"Not exactly, but I hear that the Gramercy Park hotel is a favorite place for British actors and TV people stopping over in Manhattan. I guess you won't find Sir Anthony Hopkins strolling around here but, like I say, maybe a face or two you've seen back home. The hotel guests are allowed to use the park. And that reminds me, I'd better give you a key for it as well so you can take Beech in there."
"It's a locked park? Like the one in 'Notting Hill'?"
"That's right; residents only. You've seen that movie, Tristan?"
"Oh yes I had a terrible time with watching it. I ran out of handkerchiefs towards the end."
Anita burst out laughing, the struggled to explain why.
"I'm sorry, Tristan, but ever since you mentioned the Vikings I was thinking of how you looked like one. And then, just now, I had this picture in my mind of a movie theatre full of guys wearing horned hats with big swords and axes propped up next to them, and all of them watching a movie and wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. I guess maybe I'm a little crazy at times."
"No, no, I'm the odd one. I daresay American guys are too macho to start crying inside a cinema. I'm not really a big city person, am I?"
"Whatever you are, you've certainly cheered me up. What's life like where you're living?"
"Oh, not bad. No criminals the Hell's Angels down at the local chapter house keep all the undesirables away. The only pests they don't frighten at all are the cockroaches. New York cockroaches are the biggest, meanest, smartest insects I've ever seen. If they get any bigger, meaner and smarter they'll be driving the cabs. Imagine that four claws on the steering wheel, burning stogies in two more of them and all the others making rude signs at the other drivers. Yeah, and one eye on a stalk looking back at you and it's saying: 'How 'bout those Yankees, Mac?'."
Anita giggled, reached out and touched his hand: "You're as weird as I am, Tristan."
"No, no, you're not weird. Toni told me about you a hotshot lawyer she says. As smart as they come. Which means that you've probably got a whole lot of work to do and I'm keeping you from it while I'm sitting here yarning away. I'd better slip the field and I'll come back tomorrow night."
"OK, fine, I'll see you then, Tristan. And it's been fun talking to you."
'What's the matter with you, you mad bitch? Standing here gabbing away like a Sunday School teacher! Grab his cock and haul him into the bedroom before he gets away!'
Every movement she made seemed awkward as she opened the door for him. She'd dried up completely, something which hadn't happened since the first time she'd stood up in front of a judge.
'Say something, you idiot woman, no matter how stupid.'
"I'm sorry you're having so much trouble with the roaches. Maybe putting down lot of baits would help."
"It's not worth making too much fuss about. I'm only allowed to stay in the States for ninety days and I've used up quite a few of those already. But I'll be checking my suitcase carefully when I go home, just to make sure I've got no stowaways. Good night, Anita, and thank you for the coffee."
"You're welcome."
"Oh, and there was me almost forgetting. Toni said to tell you she'd be on the way to the airport by now but she's sent you an e-mail you should read as soon as you can."
"OK, thanks, I'll check it out later."
He was gone and she was staring at her reflection in the hallway mirror and wishing she hadn't been wearing her oldest pair of corduroy slacks and a blue sweater which looked as if it belonged in a welfare donation bin. As for that fat ass well, maybe she should quit doing so much riding.
'God, I used to worry about looking like my mother but it's worse than that I'm starting to look like my high school principal. A huge nose, those two beady eyes, this ridiculous hair parting that goes down over my forehead at forty five degrees I look like a bald eagle wearing an oversize toupee!'
A face crumpled up into long lines of permanent sadness peered around the kitchen door and whined at her.
"Yeah, buddy, I know just how you feel. And you don't even have to get up in the morning. In the meantime I think we'd better find out what our mutual friend Toni is up to."
She went into her study, switched on the Dell and logged on. Yep, there is was with "Walking the dog" in the subject heading:
"Anita, hi,
I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you. I'm not going to Europe but back to Oklahoma to visit my folks. Pop's not too well at all and I've been telling the family I'd come back for a visit as soon as I could. Now the legal side of the divorce is all settled I guess this has to be the time.
I would have told you this before but it would have been really hard to explain the situation until you'd met Tristan. Now I don't know how you've reacted to him but when he came up to me in the street I felt like dragging him unto the nearest doorway. But in the end I did a lot better by getting him into my apartment as often as I could and once I'd shown him I needed exercising as badly as Beech does he went to it like gangbusters. We are talking serious sexual aerobics here the first time was on top of the freezer box and I nearly defrosted a month's supplies of groceries on the spot. Honey, this guy is guaranteed road tested and I'll swear that I've never found anybody like him for laying down rubber on the old pink highway.
Now maybe this all doesn't mean squiddly dee to you, Anita. Maybe he doesn't do anything at all for you but somehow I doubt it. Anyway, I have problems with him. The truth is that Mom and Pop are straight out Bible belters and they're finding it hard to cope with the idea of my getting a divorce at all. If I came back from separating from Al the loser La Rocca with a toy boy like Tristan in tow I'd probably get excommunicated or something. Not to mention likely putting Pop straight back into hospital with another heart attack.
On the other hand if I let Erik the Viking out on the street again with those damned dog walking cards he'll surely be walking some other bitch's bitch before Mom's finished cooking my welcome home barbecue. And even if none of that happens the government is going to take away my daily ration of scotch on the rocks by kicking him out when his non-visa waiver period expires in two months.
So, rather than lose him altogether, I figured that the best thing I could do was to find him a good home while I'm gone and you're it. Pay him whatever it takes to keep him around and occupied and put it on my bill. And I want you to do whatever you can legalwise to let him stay in the country and that's on my bill as well. Take it as high up the tree as you need to. As for whatever happens between you and him, I guess that's none of my business. But I'm getting sick to death of hearing about your dressage riding and your Portuguese bull fighting techniques. In my opinion, counsellor, it's high time that you got down off your high horse and did some hand to hand bull fighting for a change. If you think I may have something, then go and check Beech's basket and see what's taped underneath the cushion inside it then open the attached text file and follow the instructions inside it.
And don't I just wish I could see your face right now,
Toni.
PS. Don't forget to e-mail me if anything interesting happens!"
"Toni!"
Anita stared at the screen, re-reading the message over and over as she tried to sort out her emotions. The most difficult to come to terms with was feeling ashamed that Toni had read her reaction to Tristan so perfectly. God, was she really such an open book? And what was she going to do now? Apart from taking a casual look inside that basket of course, just to see what kind of craziness Tony had thought up.
It wasn't such an easy thing to do though. Beech was tired out by a long journey on short legs from the Park Avenue metro and snoring in his basket, dreaming of chasing rabbits. Not that he'd ever actually seen a rabbit but he was an animal of vivid imagination and generally managed to visualise some satisfactory substitutes. Trying to prise him out of his rest and out of his basket wasn't easy.
"Come on, you fat slob, get your butt out of there, willya?"
Beech opened an eye in a face which had gone from its usually melancholy to an expression of infinite sadness in coming to terms with a world run by humans who hadn't enough decency to let sleeping dogs lie. He finally stepped out from his basket with the grief stricken grandeur of Louis the Sixteenth descending from a tumbril into a crowd of unwashed sans-culottes.
"It's OK, you can go straight back to bed in a minute."
Beech ignored the crass comment with all the disdain it deserved and went to crunch a biscuit with a strictly non-wagging tail and miserable mien. His whole attitude was that of a dog which had broken off diplomatic relations with humankind for an indefinite period. Directed at a softer heart it would have been a good guilt-inducing tactic against a lawyer's conscience it was a waste of time.
"Suit yourself, buddy. As far as I'm concerned you ain't nothing but a hound dog, anyway."
Beech quivered but kept a straight back as Anita added injury to insult by vandalising his basket. Underneath the cushion was a neatly coiled strip of leather held in place with pieces of ducting tape. She pulled off the pieces of tape and held up the leather coil. At first she thought it was just a spare dog collar for Beech and then she realised it was much too big for that. This was a thick leather choker as wide as her thumb, embedded with silver pyramid studs and with a big silver restraining ring double studded to the front of it.
"Toni! What the hell are you doing to me?"
Anita put down the choker but kept glancing at it as she put the cushion back inside the basket. "OK, mutt, it's all yours again. No wonder you always look so pissed that mistress of yours is an evil, evil woman. And her ears are even bigger than yours."
The dog sniffed in disdain, walked back to the basket and began making a big performance out of re-settling himself into a comfortable position.
"Go ahead, have a good night's sleep. It's probably more than I'm going to get."
Back to the computer, back to the e-mail attachment: "Layme.txt" Very funny, Toni. She clicked on it . . .
OK, Anita, it looks like we have an interesting situation here.
Now I need to tell you that I've talked to Tristan a lot about you. He wants to stay in the US for a while longer and he knows a lawyer like you could be a real help to him. What he doesn't want to do is have a lawyer filing a complaint of sexual harassment against him. So he asked me to try and find a way where there'd be no misunderstandings. Now I'm writing this without knowing what happened when you met and if there was any chemistry between you but I don't think you'd have opened this file if you weren't getting some hots for Tristan Yorstan (hell of a name, isn't it? Sounds like the Swedish Chef on Sesame Street.)
Still, if you're not interested, put the choker in a drawer and forget about it until I come back and collect it. You can have Tristan walk Beech, clean your apartment, your car, maybe even squire you around to anyplace you want to go. I'll pay the wages and he won't lay a finger on you. That's the deal and I guess I'd trust the big lug. I don't think he's ever been short of feminine company in his life and he's not likely to be having a frustrating time in Manhatten.
On the other hand, if you want to be swept off your feet, just open the door to him with the choker around your neck. He'll put that leash onto it, haul you into the bedroom and . . . . well, I guess you get the idea. It's a little game Tristan and I play and Beech gets as mad as hell when I get taken for walkies before he does. Anyway, between us, we've sure been keeping that guy fit.
So there it is. Now you know how to bring the genie out of the bottle but forget about any kind of three wishes routine. I've told Tristan and now I'm telling you, counsellor, as long as that choker is on you'll be doing what he wants and any objections will be overruled. That's the way we play it and that's the way you're going to have to play it if you want to join in. You're either going to be a totally unsullied fille d'honneur or a totally screwed every which way but loose fille de joie. These are big girl's games and them's the rules.
I guess the only other thing you need to know is that playing the dutiful daughter in Oklahoma is probably going to be as much fun as a vacation spent cleaning the craphouses in a Mexican nunnery. I'm going with gritted teeth and the intention of spending at least two weeks with the family but don't count on it. I could be back very much sooner and if you're still humming and hawing you'll have lost your chance. To tell you the truth, hon, if there's no other way to keep Tristan I'll move my entire goddam business to Scotland and run it through the internet. And won't I love breaking that news to the bridges and tunnels set who keep turning up late for work with hard luck stories about how far they live from Manhattan.
So there it is Tristan needs a lawyer and I think you're a lawyer who needs Tristan. He's yours on a strictly loan arrangement because you're the only woman in town I'd even halfway trust with him and because to be honest I've got no other choice. I'll also be honest enough to admit that I'd love to know what happens between the two of you.
OK, Anita, he's all yours.
Toni.
PPS. I'm backtracking a hundred bucks off my accumulated bill for every act of gross indecency you commit with my dog person. I've told Tristan to carve the notches on your bedhead so there'll be no accounting arguments. Chou!
After carefully reading and digesting the file Anita came to three conclusions.
The first was that Toni had gotten it real bad.
The second was that Toni had watched far too many episodes of 'Ally McBeal'.
The third conclusion was that Toni had put her lawyer between a rock and a hard place and all the lawyer seemed able to think about was what she needed to do to make that place hard.
Being a calm and rational person Anita mixed herself a fresh drink, drank it slowly and then retired peacefuly to her bed for some well earned rest which wouldn't be disturbed by any further stupid thoughts about Tristam Yorstan.
At one o'clock in the morning she got up and switched on her computer again. There seemed to be very little on the net about the Orkneys except advertisments for hand knitted sweaters guaranteed to keep out Atlantic gales. Anita turned her attention towards the web pages of various New York lingerie stores and spent a lot of time looking at items of clothing absolutely guaranteed not to keep out marauding Vikings.
The following day Anita was happy for once not to have to appear in a courtroom. The necessary concentration simply wasn't there. The only thing which her mind seemed determined to fasten on was whether to check out the item of virtual non-apparel which had caught her fancy in the small hours of the morning. Assuming, of course, that she was really going to do what Toni had suggested and turn on an act for a man a boy on her own doorstep.
Simple, really. A classic case of plea-bargaining. I'm wearing this piece of nonsense and behaving like a tramp because I'm lonely and unloved and my friends think it's time I was put out to stud for a while. So which would you rather do, walk the dog or lay the bitch? Either way, you get paid.
That was one way of looking at it. The other way was that she hadn't had a man in her bed for months and it had been years since she'd since a man who'd made her go weak at the knees just by looking at him. If Toni thought she was so frightened of being human maybe she should show her how wrong she was to hell with being an ice-maiden. Anita Ruger was a long way down the track from being a maiden, her blood ran as hotly as anybody else's and who cared who knew it?
In the end she locked her office remarkably early in the afternoon and went off in grimly determined mood to the nearest Stage Door shop. A mood of determination tempered by the legalistic determination that she still wasn't making any real commitment, only window shopping.
It was window shopping which ended in the production of a credit card though, and a subsequent ride home accompanied by a ribbon wrapped parcel and enough butterflies in her stomach to pollinate a country garden.
The first thing she did when she got home to Gramercy Park was to check the time. It was also the second, third and fourth thing she did. Anita decided she needed to take a grip on herself and bypassed her usual martini for a shot of Smirnoff, the best butterfly killing liquid ever invented. She sat and looked at the parcel whilst terminating a few million of her brain cells with extreme prejudice. Beech wandered over, feeling a vague sense of duty to welcome her home and willing to negotiate some kind of rapprochement with his temporary mistress.
It was a cautious approach though. Genetically fashioned to keep both ears on the ground he was well aware of the air of tension she'd brought with her. But she scratched his forehead and he responded dutifully, if not with the outright joy similar treatment from Tristan had evoked.
"It's easy for you dogs. You can just come right out and say what you want and nobody gives a hoot. Human beings are different though we're not supposed to sit up and beg because we've got something called pride. The problem is that the more pride we have the more we usually need what we can't ask for. Does that make a lot of sense to you?"