“Hi, there,” He set his bicycle down next to her, and she found herself looking into blue eyes that were direct and warm and friendly. She guessed him to be about forty or forty-one, and he had friendly, happy-looking little lines next to his eyes. He looked like someone who enjoyed his life and was at ease with himself and the people around him.

“Hello.” Her voice seemed very small, and he noticed that she looked a little different than she had several weeks before. She looked tired and pale, and he wondered if she'd been working too hard, or maybe she'd been sick. And she seemed subdued, like someone who'd been through a lot. She had seemed bouncier somehow at the grocery store in the middle of the night, but in any case, she was still beautiful, and he was happy to see her.

“Do you live here?” He found himself wanting to talk to her, to find out something about her. It was odd that their paths had crossed again. Maybe their destinies were entwined, he teased himself, as he admired her. He would have liked nothing better, except, of course, he reminded himself silently as he smiled at her, that that would also mean having his destiny entwined with her husband's.

“Yes, we do.” She smiled quietly. “We live in one of the town houses at the other end. I don't usually park here. But I've seen your car here before. It's great.” She had admired it frequently, never knowing whom it belonged to.

“Thanks, I love it. I've seen yours here too,” now that he realized it was hers. He had always liked the battered little MG whenever he noticed it, and now he realized that he had seen her at the complex once before, from the distance. She had been with a tall, handsome man with dark hair, and they had driven off in something boring like a Mercedes, or a Porsche. And he realized as he thought of it that that was probably her husband. They had made a handsome pair, but she'd made a much greater impression on him when he'd seen her alone at the Safeway. But women alone were more likely to spark some interest in him than handsome young couples. “It's nice to see you again,” he said, feeling suddenly awkward with her, and then he laughed at himself. “Doesn't it make you feel like a kid again when you run into people like this? … Hi …I'm Bill …what's your name? …Gee, do you go to school here?” He put on a schoolboy voice and they both laughed because he was right. Married or not, she was a beautiful girl, and he was a man, and it was obvious to both of them that he liked her. “Which reminds me.” He held a hand out to her, still holding onto his mountain bike with his other hand. “I'm Bill Thigpen, and we met about two weeks ago at the Safeway, around midnight. I tried to run you down with my cart and you dropped about fourteen rolls of paper towels.”

She smiled at the memory and held her hand out to him. “I'm Adrian Townsend.” She shook his hand with a small, solemn smile, thinking how odd it was to run into him again. She remembered him now, although only vaguely. And her whole life had changed since then. Everything …Hi, I'm Adrian Townsend, and my whole life has fallen apart …my husband left me …and I'm having a baby…. “It's nice to see you again.” She was trying to be polite, but her eyes still looked so sad. Just looking at her made him want to put his arms around her. “Where do you ride your bike?” She struggled for something to say to him, he seemed to want to keep on talking.

“Oh …here and there … I drove down to Malibu this morning. It was really beautiful. Sometimes I just go down there to walk on the beach and clear my head if I've been working all night.”

“Do you do that a lot?” She tried to sound interested, although she wasn't sure why. She just knew that he seemed like a nice guy and he was friendly and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. And there was something about him that made her just want to stand there, close to him, and talk about nothing. It was as though, standing near him, she would be safe for a little while, and nothing else terrible could happen to her. He had that kind of feeling about him, like someone who could take care of things, and as she spoke to him, he was intently watching her eyes. Something had happened to her in the past few weeks. He was sure of it. He had no idea what, but she had changed. She looked bruised. From within. And it made him sad for her.

“Yeah … I work late sometimes. Very late. And you? Do you always buy your groceries at midnight?”

She laughed at the question, but in fact she did, whenever she'd forgotten to buy something earlier. She liked shopping after the evening news. She was relaxed but still wide-awake from work, and the store was always empty. “Yes, sometimes I do. I finish work at eleven-thirty. I work on the late news …and the six o'clock. It's a good hour to go shopping.”

He looked amused. “What network are you with?” She told him and he laughed again. Maybe their destinies really were entwined. “You know, we also work in the same building.” Although he had never seen her there, his show was shot some three floors from her office. “I work on a soap opera about three floors from the newsroom.”

“That's funny.” She was amused by the coincidence, too, although less encouraged by it than he was. “Which show?”

“A Life Worth Living.” He said it noncommittally, trying not to give away the fact that A Life was his baby.

“That's a good one. I used to love watching it between jobs, before I went to work on the news.” x

“How long have you been there?” He was intrigued by her, and he loved standing there next to her. He could almost imagine that he smelled the shampoo in her hair. She looked so clean and bright and decent, and he suddenly found himself wondering stupid things, like whether or not she wore perfume, and if she did, what kind and if he'd like it.

“Three years,” she answered him about how long she'd worked on the news. “I used to do specials, and two-hour movies. I'm in production. But then I got this chance to work on the news …” Her voice drifted of as though she still wasn't sure of it, and he wondered why.

“Do you like it?”

“Sometimes. It's pretty grim sometimes, and it gets to me.” She shrugged as though apologizing for some intrinsic weakness.

“It would get to me too. I don't think I could do it. I'd much rather make it all up …murder and rape and incest. The good wholesome stuff America loves.” He grinned again and leaned on his bike as she laughed and for an instant, barely more than that, she looked carefree and happy, the way she had the first time he'd seen her.

“Are you a writer?” She wasn't sure why she was asking him, but it was easy to talk to him and she had nothing else to do early on this Sunday morning.

“Yes, I am,” he answered her. “But I don't write the show very often anymore. I just kibitz from the sidelines.” She hadn't figured out that he was the originator of the show and he didn't want to tell her.

“It must be fun. I used to want to write, a long time ago, but I'm better at the production end.” Or at least that was what Steven said, but as soon as she thought of him, her eyes got sad again, and as he watched her, Bill saw it.

“I'll bet you'd be fine at it, if you tried it. Most people think writing is a big mystery, like math, but it really isn't.” But as he talked to her, he could almost see her drift away, back into her initial sadness. And for an instant, neither of them spoke as he watched her, and then she shook her head, forcing herself to think about writing again, to keep her mind off Steven.

“I don't think I could write.” She looked at him so sadly then, he wanted to reach out to her and touch her.

“Maybe you should try it. It's a tremendous release sometimes …” for whatever all that is, roaming around inside you and making you sad. He sent all his good thoughts to her, but he couldn't say anything. They were strangers, after all, and he could hardly ask her what it was that was making her so unhappy.

She opened her car door then, and looked back up at him before she got into the MG. It was almost as though she was sorry to leave him, but she didn't know what else to say to him. The small talk was wearing thin, and she thought she should move on, but she didn't really want to. “See you again sometime …” she said quietly as he nodded.

“I hope so.” He smiled, defying her wedding band, which was rare for him, but she was a rare girl. Without even knowing her, he knew that.

And as she drove away, he stood holding his mountain bike and watched her.





STEVEN CALLED HER AT HOME FINALLY TWO DAYS later before she left for work. By then, she was desperate to hear from him, and her spirits soared when she heard his voice, and then plummeted when he told her he needed his other razor.