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His voice was hard to ignore -- the same voice I dealt with on the phone, this summer. As Winters -- or was it one of his underlings? -- walked away, Randy was all over me: "That creep was lurking in reception -- I tried to warn you!" He looked me up and down with insolent approval, adding softly, "Where've you been? Engaged yet?"

"Please just tell me," I begged him. "Did he ask you any more questions?"

"Not today."

I lowered my voice. "He's a special agent with the Treasury Department. Be careful."

Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl appears in Health & Body every Monday and Thursday. + About Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl -- with links to all episodes to date. + Read the Diary from the start.

Randy shrugged. "So? I've got nothing to hide -- and where does he get off bothering you?"

"It's a long story," I said, "and I'm late for the hairdresser. But please be careful. I know he doesn't scare YOU but I don't want you to be -- to be hurt." My explanation ended on a lame note as I groped for the right words.

Actually, I don't want Randy dragged in to Winters' investigation because, if he finds out ... well, I wouldn't want Randy telling his buddies that he got free sex from a call girl -- namely me! He's so young and unpredictable ... Despite my reservations, I lingered over a pseudo-chaste goodbye kiss, my lips pressed against Randy's cheek.

"I'm not engaged," I whispered. "Can't you tell?" His hand closed tenderly around my upper arm. He breathed the words "I'll call you" into my ear and I sped off for my hair appointment at Renato's, my heart fluttering with a mixture of fear and excited desire.

Randy's touch revived my body's short-term memory. As the taxi headed west, I couldn't ignore all those recalled sensations -- but the shock of confronting Winters hit me when we got delayed on East 77th Street. Wedged between an obstinate delivery van and a diagonal Mercedes, I thought: what a perfect metaphor for my love life.

And what was that insidious remark about my boyfriend supposed to mean? Does Tom Winters really have any idea who my boyfriend is? Was he talking about Randy? Or Matt? Did Allison tell Winters all about Matt? Will I have to choose between answering questions about her or admitting my secret to Matt? And what do I owe her, at this point -- when someone rats on you, does that change the rules?

I've been in such a panic over Allison's threats that I haven't allowed myself to face the obvious -- the terrible silence of losing a best friend. I was relieved when the cab started moving again.

Thursday, October 14

At Jasmine's insistence, I've made an appointment with the notorious Barry Horowitz. "Remember that bad-ass nerd who tried to blow up the A Train? Barry was his attorney," she said with a definite air of self-importance. "When Tom Winters finds out you're represented by the lawyer for the A-Train Bomber, he'll think twice about bothering you in your own neighborhood."

"How do you know Barry Horowitz?" I was impressed with her breezy familiarity.

"Barry's known me since high school," she boasted. "He got me out of jail." A legal skeleton in Jasmine's closet! Jasmine maintains she's led a life not exactly free of crime but free of detection, even as a young drug dealer.

"You got arrested?" I tried to hide my surprise.

"Only once," she said darkly. "In front of Madison Square Garden for ticket scalping -- when I was 16. I lied to the cops about my age because I wanted to be tried as an adult -- but Barry talked me out of it. And helped me to finesse the whole thing with my dad. So I don't have a record. Of course, he's graduated to bigger and better criminals since then."

As if I didn't know -- he's constantly in the news defending the rich and the dangerously alienated. "Great," I said. "What if I run into one of his sociopaths in the waiting room? And how much have you told him about me?"

"Just go talk to him," Jasmine urged me. "I told him you were mixed up with April Ford and with Anabel Weston's Web site --"

I was mortified. "I am NOT mixed up with the Web site madam. I don't even know that woman! Why did you tell him THAT?"

"For someone who's such a snob," Jasmine opined, "you manage to get yourself into some rather tacky situations. It was you -- not me -- who got herself totally mixed up with April and she was working for Anabel. Stop looking at me like that. Barry doesn't think you were advertising on the Web. But why should you care what he thinks of you, anyway? You're paying him." Jasmine was shaking her head in disbelief.

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