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"I was nice enough not to ask David for money," Jasmine said, "figuring he might turn out to be a freebie." She saw it as a risky but affordable investment -- little knowing that he was a gigolo having similar thoughts. He misread her largesse as exploitable hunger and thought she was rich, having heard her mention her "dead sugar daddy." But maybe he was not entirely misreading her needs. Jasmine's got the classic signs of empty bed syndrome: manias, meddling, even that unexpected urge to tear off Allison's clothes. And Jasmine's not even into girls! All work and no romance: She's finally paying the emotional price.

Despite Roxana's efforts to recruit me for the international hookers' conference, Allison flies to San Francisco this weekend without me.  "I'll try to find Anabel a good lawyer," I promised, without actually mentioning Barry Horowitz. "Just don't insist that I meet her," I said. "Girls like that have caused me enough trouble already."

Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl appears in Health & Body every Monday and Thursday. + About Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl -- with links to all episodes to date. + Read the Diary from the start.

Meanwhile, I must figure out how to juggle my Wednesday appointment with Arthur and my date with Matt. (He's taking me to an art auction at the Salmagundi Club.) I don't want to turn down business after being on half-time for a whole week.

Thursday, November 4

Thanks to Arthur showing up 20 minutes late for his session, I was late for the pre-auction cocktails last night.

"Take a quick look at the paintings," Matt urged me. "I have to bid on something tonight. This is my boss's pet cause and I've gotta show my support."

I pointed out a beguiling, bejewelled adolescent nude -- Balthus meets Gigi -- and he smiled crookedly, handing me his paddle. "You bid. I'll pay," he murmured. "And we can hang it over your bed."

When the childlike nude was presented -- "This is by a dead guy!" the auctioneer wisecracked. "Do I have $500? He's not making any more of these!" -- Matt held my wrist down. "Not yet," he muttered. "Let's see what happens." Soon he was prodding me. "Raise your paddle, honey, raise it!" I obeyed.

"Six hundred? Do I have 600? 625? Ah ... 650?" At 950, Matt craned his head around to look and pinched my arm gently: "OK, raise it!" Like a marionette, I kept bidding until -- "Sold! To number 75 for $2,000."  There was a smattering of light-hearted applause as Matt kissed me triumphantly.

Later, as we headed for the cloakroom, the wrapped painting in hand, Matt nudged me again. "That's the guy who was bidding against you." he whispered urgently.

I turned and saw, approaching the cloakroom, a tall, familiar man who was smiling at us. A slim brunette was moving and talking at the same time -- it was Jasmine! The flirtatious face of the man I'd seen at the sexaholics meeting: David! As David grew nearer, Matt pulled at my elbow.

"What's wrong?" I whispered to Matt. He looked stricken.

"Honey, I can't remember that guy's name!" he blurted out. "And he --"

"Congratulations!" David said cheerfully. "That painting's a steal."

Matt was still squirming awkwardly, leaving me no choice but to extend my hand rather forwardly to my best friend's date.

"Hello," I said, avoiding David's womanizing gaze.  "I'm Nancy." Matt gave me a grateful squeeze, as David introduced himself to me.

Jasmine exchanged a panicky look with me:  Neither of us girls had the other's story straight. What was I supposed to tell Matt about Jasmine? What was she supposed to say about me? How on earth did these two guys know each other?

"How's your sister?" David asked Matt. Jasmine's eyes widened in horror, mine in amazement. Matt's sister knows David? How?

"Elspeth's fine!" Matt said. "You transformed her marriage! They get along so much better now."

Jasmine and I stared at Matt. Why would Elspeth reveal a fling with a gigolo to her little brother? Are they a family of swingers? God, how -- how suburban! What does Jason, her husband, think of all this? A million horrified questions ran through my mind. Jasmine looked shell-shocked, a witness to the much-feared implosion of Manhattan's bedroom secrets -- the very thing she had warned me against. Her words echoed in my head: Don't tell Matt a thing because he'll go crazy ... Civilization depends upon it.

David and Matt chuckled complacently, as I wondered: How could I have been so blinkered about who my boyfriend actually is?

"Well, now that the dead space is so impressively occupied," Matt continued, "her husband gets to show off the Warhol but  he lets her take credit for choosing it. So they're bickering a lot less. David's -- what would you call yourself?" Matt asked him.

"An amateur collector," David said, looking right into my eyes. Jasmine and I both exhaled at the same time, tremendously relieved. "I'd like you to meet Jasmine," David said.

There was a puzzled pause, as I wondered how to respond. Then Jasmine took the plunge. "Oh, Nancy and I have known each other for years."

"So you're one of Nancy's mysterious girlfriends?" Matt was eyeing Jasmine with alert curiosity. "How do you know each other?"

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