She squinted at her little quartz clock. Damn. The cannon was right. She had to drag herself out of bed despite having slept solidly. It was catching up with her, she realized: all the unsolved mysteries — little, big, and in between — were having a cumulative effect. Either that, or being in love without sex was exhausting. Whatever the reason, Liz went through her morning routine like a zombie, grateful that Susy was even more tired from the picnic than she was, and still in bed. Why him? How could she fall for someone who considered her frivolous? For that matter, how could he — the owner of a yacht yard, for Pete's sake — consider her frivolous? If the society column in the Daily News was anywhere near the mark, Jack Eastman hadn't exactly made a career out of dating Nobel prize winners. What a self-important, condescending ... pig the man was. She brushed her teeth with vicious abandon and spat out the toothpaste the way she would've liked to do to the memory of his kisses.
