Impersonal Attractions by Sarah Shankman Page A

word he ever wrote. I wonder if he makes love as well as he writes it?”
    “Well, my dear, this is certainly your chance to find out. See, I told you you’d get into this.”
    “Oh, damn, he’ll be out of town until next Thursday. Can I wait that long?”
    “Why not? You’ve waited your whole life. Anyway, I thought you were complaining about how busy you are. Sure you’ve got time for Mr. Andrews?”
    “Of course. I mean, I am busy. And I do have time. For this. Jeez, I almost forgot to tell you. I got some responses to the other ad too. Some good ones.”
    “Yes?”
    “A black female lawyer, a lesbian transplanted from New York, a bisexual painter.” She fanned a hand. “Could be some very kinky stuff there.”
    “Speaking of kinky, want to hear about my freeway cruiser?”
    “God! Just talking about me, me, me. I’m sorry, I forgot.”
    “I guess he did too. Or maybe he just got cold feet. He never showed.”
    “After all that!”
    “Takes all kinds. But I did run into Sean O’Reilly and we had dinner together.”
    “Well, that’s not a bad trade-off. San Francisco’s Finest’s nomination for hunk of the year. He is that gorgeous detective, isn’t he? The tall one, with the dark red hair, the flashing white teeth, the broad shoulders, the big gun. Did I miss anything?”
    “No, that’s him all right. But you left out the strawberry birthmark on his right shoulder.”
    “Sam! You devil. Did you?”
    “No, silly. I’m teasing. We just ate dinner and talked shop. Murder shop. That guy who killed his parents on Mt. Diablo probably isn’t the trail killer.”
    “Oh, no.”
    “And worse news. Sondra Weinberg?”
    “Right! I meant to ask you about that the other day. Any leads?”
    “Nothing. Except more of the same.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Afraid it looks like the first in a series. Sean said the body of a black woman was found yesterday in her apartment on the edge of the Mission. Looks like the same handiwork. Rape, strangulation, and a knife. Woman named Cindy Dunbar.”
    “Oh, Lord!”
    “I know. Let’s change the subject.”
    “Okay.” But Annie was pensive as she stirred her coffee.
    “What?”
    “I don’t know. They’re making me nervous, all these murders. I’m beginning to imagine things.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well…it was probably nothing. But the other night I stayed late in my classroom at State to do some paperwork. It’s always a little creepy out there with no one around.”
    “Just you and the sea gulls.”
    “Stop interrupting. I finished up and started walking toward my car and I heard footsteps behind me. I stopped and fished around in my bag for my keys—and the footsteps stopped too.”
    “Yikes.”
    “I know. That’s when I got really nervous. So no fooling around, I was really moving, almost running, and so was he.”
    “He?”
    “I didn’t figure it was a woman. Sounded like a man. Anyway, just when I got to the car, I couldn’t stand it any longer and I wheeled around.”
    “And?”
    “Nobody there.”
    “What!”
    “Just disappeared. I was so scared, I slammed my jacket in the door, but I wasn’t opening it for anything.”
    “So what do you think?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe your work”—she reached over and tweaked Sam on her lovely nose—“is getting to me.
    “Well, let’s go get some Woody Allen to aerate our brains.” Sam snagged the passing waitress and paid the check.
    Out on the sidewalk, Annie asked, “This isn’t a funny one, is it?”
    “No, the reviews said real serious.”
    They exchanged a look.
    “Okay, okay,” Sam agreed. “I know you’re dying to see the Divine Miss M. Let’s do it.”
    “You’re so good to me, Missy Samantha,” Annie said, fooling around. “I should be so lucky as to find a man like you.”
    “You should be, but your chances are slim to nothing. What is it Gloria Steinem said? ‘We’ve become the men we were