“You weren't supposed to make a cake," Shelley said when she returned to the kitchen a moment later. "I assigned you a carrot salad."

“I know you did, and it's in my refrigerator," Jane said.

“Yes?" Shelley cocked a shapely eyebrow.

“Well, it will be as soon as I fix it. This is Dorothy Wallenberg's cake. How is it that you can wear a paisley scarf with a sweat suit and look like a model? I wrap a scarf around my neck and I look like Dale Evans."

“Don't be a dolt. You could wear anything if you could just believe in yourself. You looked great last week in that green dress with the gold scarf."

“Only because you came over and tied it for me."

“Put that cake on the counter. You're getting icing on your shirt. Frenchy! Stop that!" she added as a tiny orange poodle came tearing around the corner, legs whirling like a cartoon dog on the slick floor. He sank his teeth into Jane's pant leg.

“He really thinks he's a fierce beast, doesn't he?" Jane said, shaking him loose. "Big old Willard would be afraid to attack a piece of notebook paper, and this little thing thinks he can bring me to my knees."

“He's going to the kennel this morning. I'm not having him ripping everyone's hose tonight and shedding all over—"

“Poodles don't shed," Jane said.

“Whoever told you that was trying to sell you a poodle. That reminds me, I didn't show that woman where the vacuum cleaner is. Won't be a sec. Pour us some coffee, would you?”

Jane had their coffee ready and had also put out a plate of cookies when Shelley got back from the basement. Jane was having her first cigarette of the day. She'd been cutting down slowly for months, half-intending to take a plunge into quitting, but not ready yet. This month she was allowed twelve a day: four each in the morning, afternoon and evening.