Présentation de l'éditeur When Justine and Barry meet during a plane crash just before the Christmas holidays, the relationship that follows is wild, turbulent, and maybe, just maybe, a keeper. Justine is a pretty, smart, ambitious lawyer who's tired of being set up on lousy dates. Her eighteen-hour work days get in the way of finding Mr. Right, but she'd rather be home with her dog, drinking salad dressing for dinner and watching The Sound of Music on the VCR anyway. Barry is a good-looking food product manager living on the Upper West side with a rich roommate who is juggling three girlfriends at once but never has the rent. Barry seeks his soulmate, but the fact that he hasn't had a date in a year makes things a little tougher. A comic urban romance about the possibilities and impossibilities of love. Was it Something I Said? is a classic "will they or won't they?" for the nineties that will keep readers guessing until the very end. Extrait Chapter OneHe couldn't get himself arrestedAt 7:30 A.M., Barry Cantor flew up the Saw Mill River Parkway blasting Abbey Road. It was five days before Christmas. He hadn't had a second date in eight months, and he hadn't had sex in over a year. It was astounding.Barry worked, read the Times, watched TV; he played first base for the Condiments and Retail Sauces team. At 32, he'd won a Brammy for Best Consumer Promotion. At 33 he'd renovated the twisty seven-room apartment he'd grown up in. Three months ago, he'd hired a chef to cook for him twice a week. If he behaved himself, he'd be Group Product Supervisor in a year. In all probability, he would never learn Italian; when he was honest with himself, he admitted that he didn't really speak French.He took the second Tarrytown exit. All of Barry's old friends were married, and most of them were fathers; he saw them on the weekends, among their families, carrying things. Possibly there was something wrong with him. He'd been losing hair steadily since his junior year at Dartmouth. On the other hand, he was taller than most men he knew. Plus, there was something seriously wrong with every single woman he'd met lately. Jack Kennedy didn't get married until he was 36.He turned into the ice-encrusted parking lot, sick of thinking about himself. It was as if Cynthia had never existed, as if he'd never had someone sleeping next to him. And why would it ever end? Nobody wanted anything anymore.Not true: Vince Anspacher was seeing three women simultaneously. Barry had been fascinated by Vince's situation until he'd met Vince's lineup -- neurotic, abrasive, and self-involved, every single one of them, and Kiki was the kind of girl who needed a map in an elevator. Though all three of them were quite passable, visually.Barry had met Vince at a wedding in July. Vince had seemed on his wavelength, if a little out of his league; his father was a self-made magnate whose empire was written up in the newspaper every day. In September, when Vince had asked to stay till he found a sublet, Barry instantly agreed, thinking being roommates with Vince would lead to membership to clubs he'd never heard of, and also that it might be nice to bump into someone in the hall.Of course, all that had come of it was repeated reminders of what Barry was missing, and why. Last night, on his way to bed, he saw that Vince's door was open. Renée was probably naked on the bed. If Vince wanted a woman over -- and why shouldn't he? -- fine. But with the door open? The good news was that Vince traveled constantly.Barry pulled into his parking space and paused as "Come Together" came on again. What was John Lennon singing about, and did it matter? Long before the murder, he'd felt deficient for not liking John more. John was too contrary; Barry always had the feeling that he was missing something, and he wasn't cool enough to know what it was. Paul, on the other hand, let Linda play in the band -- conciliatory to the point of ridiculous. Well, a gentleman. Any kind o
