Excerpt of The Single Life by Liz Wood

Borrow my words, then! —

Your beautiful young manhood — lend me that! And we two make one hero of romance!

Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac

"You're going to have to sell the house."

Lauren shut her eyes tightly, hoping that she hadn't heard correctly, that she was still asleep and would wake up to something other than the jarring sound of the telephone and Clare's devastating proclamation. After all those hours spent exploring the varied shades of darkness, she wasn't even sure she had actually slept. Not until she heard Clare Hanley's voice at the other end of the line.

"What time is it anyway?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"Way past the time for you to be still in bed. The last time I looked, it was going on eleven. What happened? Did you stay up to catch the late show?"

"Something like that."

Lauren didn't want to go into the details of her sleepless nights. "Well, I'm sorry if I've ruined your beauty sleep, but I'm glad you finally answered. I've been trying to reach you for days. Don't you ever listen to your messages?"

"I listen to them." She just didn't bother to answer them. These days she also didn't bother to answer the phone. She wouldn't have picked up this time, either, except that Chrissie had said she would call, and Lauren really wanted to speak to her, to hear her voice, to know she was all right.

E-mail could get the news through. It could transmit a quick greeting or forward a funny joke, but it couldn't reassure Lauren about the subtleties, the unspoken nuances that Chrissie couldn't hide from her mother.

They had been playing telephone tag for days now. Neither Lauren's preference for the answering machine, nor the time difference between Illinois and Vienna helped much. So when the phone had rung at 11:00 a.m., Lauren had quickly calculated that it was late afternoon for Chrissie in Austria and a perfect time for a trans-Atlantic conversation. She had wiped her eyes and swallowed the big lump in her throat. By the time the phone had rung a third time, she was rolling across the king-size bed and reaching for the receiver. She didn't stop to think it might be someone other than Chrissie.

Now here she was, stuck with the effects of another bad night's sleep, a headache that was getting worse by the second and a conversation she really didn't want to have.

"As you can probably tell, I just woke up, Clare, and this is really a bad time to talk. I'll call you back. Bye —"

"Don't you dare hang up on me, Lauren Wilt! I've waited long enough to speak to you, and I'm not going through this again."

Lauren didn't say anything, but she didn't hang up either. Even outside the courtroom, Clare's voice could put fear in humble citizens like herself.

Clare must have realized it because she switched to a softer tone.

"How've you been, Lauren?"

"Fine, Clare. Just fine. As long as people don't try to get me out of bed before twelve."

"Mmm-hmm. That's why you haven't been answering your phone lately? Or responding to your messages?"

"I've been, you know, busy."

"Yeah, so have I. But I return my calls."

"You pay other people to do it for you."

"Same thing. Besides, I'm not just talking about business calls. Even your best friend Alice says you haven't been returning her calls either."

"I was going to today. I've been trying to finish a chapter." Trying being the operative word, since Lauren hadn't managed to finish it. She had spent another day looking at a blank screen — when she wasn't contemplating her blank mind. She didn't expect today would be much different. Which was why she hadn't bothered to get out of bed, even when it was clear she wasn't going to get back to sleep.

"Look, Lauren, I'm your lawyer, but I'm speaking here as your friend. It's been more than a year since the divorce came through. You need to start living again."

It was easy for Clare to talk. She'd never been divorced. Never been married, for that matter. Never had her heart broken. Never had to mend it. Not independent, hard-as- nails Clare Hanley.

"Is that why you called? To offer me some friendly advice? For free?"

"Actually, no. I just gave you the free advice, but I called about something else. And that, as you know, doesn't come free. You pay for it. So, like it or not, I have to give it to you."

Clare paused for a moment, as if she were weighing her words. When she spoke again, she sounded surprisingly unsure of herself. "Lauren, I think you should come in so we can talk about it."

"If it's so important, you should tell me over the phone."

"Lauren, look, maybe we could meet for lunch or dinner — my treat, of course — and we can talk about this."

"I already have plans for lunch."

Not! As Chrissie might say. The old Lauren would have crossed her fingers because she was telling a lie. But the new Lauren — who was really a very old Lauren — a very, very old, tired, worn-out Lauren — didn't bother with that. She just didn't see the point anymore, no more than having lunch with Clare, or anyone else for that matter.

"With Alice?" Clare was asking. "That's okay. She can come, too."

"No, not with Alice."

"Lauren —"

"Just tell me, Clare. I may not be a courtroom shark like you, but I'm no hothouse flower either."

"I just think you'd be better off dealing with this face- to-face."

"Just tell me."

"Okay." Clare sighed. "If that's the way you want it." Lauren didn't say anything, but her silence was eloquent. After a moment, Clare spoke.

"I've been looking into your accounts and, well, I don't think you're going to be able to keep up with all your payments. There's no two ways about this — you're going to have to sell the house."

Lauren's first reaction was to think she hadn't heard correctly. Her second was much more passionate.

"Sell the house? Are you crazy? Never!"

"Lauren, listen to me. I know what it means to you. I know it was once your grandmother's house. I know how important it is to you, how much you want to keep it. You made it very clear when we were working on the divorce settlement. You gave up a lot for it — against my better advice, I might add."

"You're off the hook."

"Honestly, Lauren! That's the least of my worries."

"So what are your worries?" Other than trying to keep Lauren on the phone as long as possible when all she wanted to do was hang up and have another cry.

"Mostly that you're not in the same position you were. You lost money on your investments, and now with the increases in property tax, well, I just don't see how you can make your payments."

Lauren pressed her fingers against her forehead in the hopes of quelling the ache that was increasing by the minute.

"I'll cut down on the rest of my spending if I have to, but I can't sell the house."

"It's going to take a lot more than better budgeting. You just don't have the income anymore."

"What about the money my mother left me?"

"We put it in trust for Chrissie and Jeff. Against my —"

"Better advice, I know. You're beginning to repeat yourself. Couldn't we get an extension on the taxes? Negotiate somehow?"

"With what? It's not as if you have a new source of revenue. You're already living on the advance for your next book — which you aren't even close to deliver-ing — not even now that the deadline has come and gone. And from what you've been telling me, there's nothing else in the pipeline."

"There must be something we can do! Help me out here, Clare. Please." Lauren could hear her voice breaking, but she didn't try to hold back. She couldn't, even if she wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Lauren. Really, I am. I've looked at it from all angles and there's nothing I can do. Unless you come up with more money soon, my only suggestion is to sell the house. Because even if you have your miracle, even if you get more money, you're still not in the clear. An old house like yours, the repairs are endless. The bills won't stop. They'll just keep coming. They'll soak up all your money and then some. Listen to me, Lauren. Sell the house."

Clare slammed the phone down, more annoyed with herself than with Lauren. After more than twenty years in the business, she should be more tactful, more considerate, more kind when dealing with the financial and legal affairs of a woman whose heart had been ripped in two and whose life was broken — especially when the woman was also a friend.

But Clare had never been very good at holding hands and passing the Kleenex. Maybe because she'd had her own share of hard luck — and then some — when most kids were still wiping their eyes over Bambi's mother and Simba's father. Maybe because she'd learned early that no amount of hand- holding and Kleenex-wringing would pay the bills. Only hard cash would, aided by calculating law. That's where she came in. The rest would take time — a lot of time.

But time was something Lauren didn't have, at least not when it came to the house. Not that Clare thought Lauren should hang on to the house. Even with the crippling bills, Lauren was holding on to it harder than any life belt, as if it were the only thing keeping her alive now that her husband, her children and her creative inspiration were gone. Clare knew there were days, weeks even, when Lauren didn't leave her cocoon. But that didn't change the fact that no house — not even a gingerbread one with gaily painted walls, shining wooden floors, tower bedrooms and shingled turrets — could put Lauren's life back together. Only Lauren could do that.

Still, Clare wished there were something she could do. There must be something she'd missed when she'd explored all the angles with her long-time colleague, the top-notch financial planner Lynne Pozzorni. Lynne had been disappointed with some of the choices Lauren had made and hadn't hidden it from Clare.