A Purrfect Romance by J.M. Bronston

at him.
    “I didn’t mean that.” He said it quickly, awkwardly, like a man stumbling over his own feet. “I only meant I wanted this to be a nice dinner. I wanted us to get to know each other. I only wanted to explain about—”
    A cab pulled up and he grabbed the door, holding it for her.
    “Oh, just go away!” She was practically snarling.
    She yanked her coat out of his hands, got into the cab and pulled the door closed behind her before he could join her. She flounced back against the seat and folded her arms indignantly across her chest.
    “Six Twelve Park,” she snapped at the driver.
    And then she was silent.
    And Mack, left alone in the middle of Hudson Street, with the cars weaving around him, threw his hands into the air and spoke to no one in particular. “What did I do? What’s she so mad about?”
    He really didn’t get it.
    Was it a guy thing?

Chapter Seven
    B ridey needed to calm down and regroup. Slamming the door behind her, slapping her bag angrily onto a chair, glowering fiercely at the hall mirror as she passed it; none of that helped. Anger had been overtaken by anxiety. She kicked off her shoes, plunked herself deep into the pillows of the pale silk sofa and pulled her feet up under her. Silk and Satin jumped up next to her, and she gathered them close for comfort.
    “What will I do?” she whispered into Silk’s ear. “If I lose this place, I’ll have to start all over again. I’ll have to find another apartment, go back to a restaurant job, postpone everything while I save my money again. Oh, Silk, everything seemed so perfect.”
    The telephone’s ring interrupted her.
    As usual, Marge didn’t wait for any greeting. “Can we talk? Are you alone?”
    “Of course I’m alone, Marge. What did you expect?”
    “Oh, something romantic, I guess. How did your dinner with your uptight friend turn out?”
    “Just awful, Marge. Worse than awful. And Mack Brewster is no friend of mine. Just wait till you hear.” She told the whole dreadful story while Marge murmured little gasps of surprise, sympathy and support. “If that man manages to get me out of this apartment, I’m in real trouble. I don’t know what I’ll do.”
    “You know you’re welcome to stay with me.”
    “You’re sweet, Marge, but that doesn’t solve my problem. Or the cats’ problem, either. But thanks anyway.”
    “But it’s so sad,” Marge said, “the way he turned from hero to wicked villain just like that.”
    “He was never a hero, Marge, just a good-looking guy who happens to live next door . . . and who also happens to be planning to put me out of house and home. But now at least I understand why he glared at me that first day, like he had something against me before we’d even met. He did have something against me. I was in his way; I was trouble, a nuisance in the way of his plans.” With each word Bridey was making herself madder. “I was just an inconvenient hurdle he needed to jump over. He only took me out to dinner tonight so he could tell me he was planning to get rid of me.”
    “Wow, that was real big of him.”
    “Wasn’t it, though?” Bridey said sarcastically. By now she was really furious.
    “Anyway, did you find out?”
    “Did I find out what?”
    “Did you learn anything more about him? What’s his business . . . what is he, a lawyer, a politician, an interior decorator? Is he living off a big inheritance? Maybe a playboy with a trust fund? He’s got to be well fixed if he’s got an apartment in that building.”
    “I have no idea. It never came up, and I didn’t think to ask. I had other things on my mind. But I’m pretty sure he’s not a decorator,” she said with a little laugh. “There’s nothing at all artsy about him. I can’t imagine him fussing over a bolt of paisley print. Anyway, I can’t worry about that now, Marge. I don’t care if he’s a tinker, tailor, soldier or spy. For me, he’s just trouble. I’m going to have to work at top speed from here