Make that men under the age of eighty.She jumped to her feet, poised to stomp from the room. The old Gwyneth would have. The new Gwynethcouldn't. She needed this job, now more than ever.She drew herself up proudly. "Very well. I'll contact him today.""I already took care of that. Meet him at Molly Murdock's at ten. The address and directions are on your desk." As she turned to leave, he added, "Oh, and, dear, you might want to change your shoes."She looked down at her favorite pair of Manolos.
High heels and Armani weren't just her style,they were her armor.
* * *
The pig's skin was tough and bristly. Why had Arley thought it would be smooth? Perhaps because of his china piggy bank, the one he'd smashed when he was seven so he could give the money to apanhandler who had been outside their Manhattan apartment.His father had been appalled. "Give those people money and they'll never quit asking for handouts."But Arley tended to do the opposite of what people wanted him to do. The bum on the street haddisappeared with his bounty wrapped in one of Arley's father's monogrammed handkerchiefs and never again appeared on their doorstep.Probably because Father had him arrested, a cynical voice whispered. Arley hated that voice."Her name is Cuddles," Molly called out.The pig made snuffling noises that seemed to generate from the underside of her belly, which washanging just a few inches above the ground. Her eyes displayed a complete and utter lack of interest inhim, which didn't surprise Arley. After all, they weren't exactly old friends. He'd only met Molly last weekafter reading about the old woman's plight in the newspaper."She's never at her best this early," Molly was saying. "Pigs aren't morning people.""She seems pretty lively to me," Arley said to be polite. Actually, the porcine pet lumbered after thetottering old woman like a dog at heel. The image would have been comical if the situation weren't sodire. Molly was being told Cuddles must go. Nobody seemed to care that Cuddles was here first, thatMolly had raised the animal from a bottle. The two were as close as his grandmother had been withFritz, her demented Yorkie."Bring her a watermelon next time you come," Molly said, motioning him to follow her to the house."Then you'll see her dance with excitement. I had to stop buying them. Luxuries like that are a little out of my budget."Arley's heart did a little flip-flop. To his parent's annoyance, he'd always been a sucker for the old, theweak, the ones who just couldn't seem to make sense of the world.He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial number for the offices of Silver, Reisbechtand Lane. "Arley McNamara calling for Nolan Reisbecht or whomever he put on my case.""That would be Gwyneth Jacobi. I'll ring her for you now, sir," the receptionist said.