I smothered a gasp at hearing the amount. So much for Lance’s pretending to love his “classic” Hugger Orange Camaro.

“Seventy-five thousand?” Lance waved his hand dismissively, but even from a distance I could see perspiration sheen his brow. “That’s a drop in the bucket, sweetheart, compared to what my Super Bowl winnings are going to be.”

I felt a sharp stab in the region of my heart. I never hear “Super Bowl” mentioned without being reminded of my late husband. Two years ago, Jim, the poor dear, landed facedown in the guacamole dip after suffering a fatal coronary during halftime. He never knew he’d won fifty bucks in the football pool.

“And if there are no Super Bowl winnings?” Claudia continued her tirade. “What then? Write another check out of my money market account to pay for it? Drain my account down to nothing? Lance, this has to stop!”

Lance adopted a new approach, his tone faintly mocking. “After watching you at the roulette table in Vegas, I never took you for such a tightwad. I’m seeing a whole new side of you, sweetheart-a very unattractive side.”

In her fury, Claudia’s face was turning as red as her hair. “I’m seeing a new side of you as well. I won’t stand for this kind of behavior, Lance. This has to end-and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to see that it does.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked, feigning outrage.

I wasn’t overly impressed with Lance’s theatrical ability. At this point if I were a casting director, I’d have yelled, Cut!

“No, Lance.” Claudia’s voice dropped so low I had to lean forward to better hear her response. “It’s not a threat; it’s a promise.”

“You’re my meal ticket, babe. It’s going to cost you a pretty penny if you want to get rid of me.” At last the kid gloves were off. Lance was showing his true colors; black with a white stripe down the center of his back.

“Over my dead body, you two-bit actor,” Claudia snarled. “I’ll find a way to get you out of my life-one way or another.”