phone away from her ear. "My Mickey? That blarney-tongued charmer? C’mon Lila! When’s the last time I let Mick handle anything but my left—"
Lila laughed out loud. "I get the picture." Mick was a wonderful husband and brother-in-law, but Mr. Responsible he was not. Mick’s idea of keeping things straight was knowing which of his guitars needed tuning before he went on stage.
"So you’ll do it?"
Although she was flattered by her sister’s offer, Lila had been burned too many times by the fire of Rivka’s enthusiasm. Honor or no, she wasn’t about to agree to the partnership before she’d asked a few more questions. "What do I have to do exactly?"
"Oh, you know. Make sure things happen. Keep my head on straight. Make sure I do what I say I’m going to do. You’re good at that."
"Who else is in this partnership?"
"Me and Mick, of course. We’re the creative angle, though I can see that causing one of us to sleep on the sofa more than a few times. You know I love my Mickey, Lila-love, but the man can be so stubborn!"
Lila laughed silently. Rivka calling Mick stubborn was the clearest case she had ever seen of the pond calling the ocean wet. The pair of them were both of artistic temperament, prone to the ecstasy and agony of creative successes and failures. Their marriage was one of the most volatile, passionate, yet loving marriages Lila had ever seen.
Still, Lila couldn’t help but envy Rivka a little. Her sister had found her soul mate, what Orthodox Jews called the baschert. The one person in the world so perfect for you, no matter how you met, you knew he was the one. Rivka had met Mick at a concert. The Roving Ramblers, Mick’s band, were well known throughout the area for their unique blend of traditional Celtic and Cajun music. A slight man with a mop of ink-dark hair and a face creased from smiling, Mick had decided not to return to Ireland after meeting Rivka. They’d been married three months later.
With a sudden shiver, Lila thought of Tom Caine’s last words to her. What had he meant by, "We marry them?" Had he been implying something? Obviously not, since he hadn’t called her. The showing had been more than a week ago. She hadn’t given him her phone number, but when did that ever stop anybody? She was listed in the book. Then again, she hadn’t called him either. Lila sighed. She just couldn’t seem to get him out of her mind.
"Hello? Earth to Lila Lazin!"
"What?" She was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t been paying attention. "What did you say?"
"I’m just telling you who else is in the partnership. Of course, I’ve asked Martin. He’s the business angle. If he can’t market my stuff now that I have my own gallery, I don’t know who can. Then you, dear sister. You’ll be the fire under all our butts, of course. And there’s also an investor, for the financial side of it—"
Lila didn’t wait to hear about that. "Fire under your butts, huh?"
"Don’t get your panties in a twist." The grin was clear in her voice. "You know you love that stuff. I’ll come up with the ideas, Martin will market them, and the investor will pay for them. You just have to be the one who makes sure we all do our jobs on time."
Lila sighed. "It sounds like a lot of work, Riv. I do have a job of my own, you know."
"Ah yes, the high and mighty production manager of Deerkiller magazine." Rivka was teasing again. "And what’s that other one? Dollhouse?"
"Archery Hunter and Doll Collector," Lila replied dryly. Her sister knew exactly what she did for a living. "Don’t forget Early Colonial Crafts and British Life."
"Will you do it, Lila-love?" Rivka sounded serious. "I don’t trust anyone else."
She couldn’t say no, and she didn’t really want to. Working with Rivka would be as close to being an artist as Lila would ever get. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like being a part of her sister’s work. It gave her a taste of what creativity was like.
"I think I’m setting myself up for a whole lot of headaches, but of course I’ll do it. When have I ever let you down?"
"Never, Lila-love." Rivka clapped her hands gleefully, like a child. Lila could hear her through the phone. Rivka’s bangles clamored and jangled like an out-of-tune calliope. "So you’ll be at the meeting tonight, at