Free Acts of Love by Judith Michael Page A

lying?”
    â€œI’m saying you’ve written your own script and it satisfies you, so it needn’t have even a remote resemblance to mine.” His pity had faded; he was exactly where he was every time he was with Claudia: impatient to be gone. And now he could be; they had finished their coffee and had no reason to linger. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
    â€œAlready? Are you nervous? You always get nervous when I talk about our marriage.”
    â€œI never recognize our marriage when you talk about it. And I’m not nervous; I want to get home. I have work to do; we begin casting next week.”
    â€œCan I watch the rehearsals?”
    â€œI leave that up to the cast. You know that.” He signaled for the check.
    â€œI was at the Phelans’ last week,” Claudia said, very casually, and then Luke knew what this dinner was about, and he knew that she had held off talking about it until it was clear that, otherwise, the evening would be over.
    He sat back, ignoring the check the waiter put beside him. “How much did you lose?”
    â€œYou could give me the benefit of the doubt. I might have won.” He looked at her steadily and she flushed deeply. “A little over five thousand.”
    â€œYou promised me you wouldn’t go there again.”
    â€œI was lonely.”
    â€œMore likely bored.”
    â€œThat’s part of being lonely. So when they called and said they missed me and they had some really interesting people and a new roulette wheel with a terrific new croupier—and I felt lucky—and God knows I’ve missed them —well, anyway, I said yes. And they gave me the front bedroom, you know, the blue-and-silver one, and I had such a good time. They’re wonderful people, Luke; they make me feel wanted.”
    â€œThey want your money.”
    â€œThey want me! They could get tons of people with money, but they always call me first. Why can’t you believe that people really like me?”
    â€œI know that people like you. I also know the Phelans.” He skimmed the dinner check, then laid it inside its leather folder with his credit card. “How much over five thousand?”
    There was a pause. “Actually, it was closer to ten.”
    â€œHow much closer?”
    â€œA little over nine. Just a little. Nine, three. But I have it, Luke, you don’t have to worry about me.”
    â€œYou don’t have it. The Phelans know you don’t have it, but they know you can get it. Why else would they let you play all weekend just on your signature?”
    â€œHow do you know—”
    â€œI told you: I know them. You didn’t spend a penny at their house, did you? They never asked you to. And what little token of affection did they give you when you left? Earrings? An Hermès scarf? A bracelet?” Claudia was silent. “What was it?”
    â€œLapel pin,” she whispered.
    â€œNinety-three hundred dollars for a lapel pin,” he said contemptuously.
    â€œIt was a gift! Because they love me! And if I want to believe that, who the hell are you to tell me I’m wrong?”
    â€œYour banker,” he said.
    Her shoulders slumped. She stared into space, running a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “I have until day after tomorrow.”
    The waiter took the leather folder and vanished, and Luke pulled out his checkbook. An expensive dinner, he thought, and no sign of anything changing soon. Why the hell can’t she find another husband? But he knew the answer to that: she clung to the fantasy that they would get together again. Like a child, she believed that saying or thinking something often enough would make it a reality. And in one way she was right: he kept covering her gambling debts.
    He wrote the check and held it out until, with a whispered “Thank you,” she took it and slipped it into her purse. Then he signed the charge slip for dinner and finally