Excerpt from Group by Paul Solotaroff, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Oh God, I hope so," said Lina glumly. "Because I feel like this--weakling--against a giant, and he's got a team of lawyers to stomp me out."

"Yes, well, trust me, you'll see," said Lathon, beaming encouragement. "He's the one who's weak, and you're the tough guy. After all, which of you's been working in the South Bronx for years, getting gang kids to sweep outside your doorway?"

Lina laughed at this inflation of her power, and proceeded with her story. Three years ago the previous fall, she'd begun seeing changes in Anton. Suddenly, he was spending a lot of time in tanning parlors, and rejuvenating his staid gray wardrobe. At first, Lina chalked it up to middle age, but when he went in for a neck-and-eye job, she confronted him. He insisted he was being faithful, and that this was strictly about business, the necessity of keeping abreast. But on the Upper East Side, a lot gets said by inference, and Lina could read the text of the averted gaze, and the canned joviality of her neighbors. Finally, after months of this, she was at her dentist's getting her teeth cleaned when the hygienist dropped a name, assuming she knew. It turned out that Anton's girlfriend was living a block and a half from them, and that everyone, including her dog walker, had known for months.

"Ucchhhh!" cried Sara, no longer able to contain herself. "What a fucking asshole this guy is!"

For the second time in minutes, she'd taken the room by surprise. Mortified, she clapped a hand over her mouth, and ducked between her shoulders, begging forgiveness.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she said, "that was so totally uncool, and I apologize for cutting you off. It's just that what you're describing is, like, my absolute nightmare. Being with a guy for all those years and getting totally screwed over, and being the last one in your circle to find out about it."

"Yeah, well, that's what it's been," said Lina. "A complete and total nightmare. And every time I say it can't get worse, it goes and gets worse on me."

She was wearing her sad smile, but had blanched the color of her knuckles. And though she'd refrained from crying, the held-back tears had dissolved her eyeliner, streaking her lower lids like a televangelist's.

"Lina, you look bushed," said Lathon, solicitously. "You want to stop here and pick up next time, or would you rather--"

"No, no, I want to finish," she said, blowing her nose. "I still haven't even gotten to the problem yet. These people'll walk out of here thinking I'm all broken up over being dumped for some
stupid--hostess."

Lathon assured Lina that no one would be laughing at her, but she insisted on finishing her story. It seemed that, even when finally confronted with the facts, Anton wouldn't come clean. He challenged Lina to produce hard evidence, and--worse--refused to leave. Installing himself in the guest room, he carried on as if nothing had happened, though he would go weeks without speaking to her. Eight months elapsed before she was able to oust him, on the strength of a private detective's snapshots.

But what should have been the end of Lina's problems was, in fact, merely the start of phase two--the International Dodge and Freeze-out, as she called it. Though by now as American as corporate welfare, Anton had preserved his dual citizenship, keeping an apartment in Lebanon. He took refuge there with his laptop and girlfriend, overseeing his father's holdings via satellite. He also placed a freeze on the marital assets, such that Lina couldn't rent their house in Saltaire, or write a check on their joint account. She had some money put away from a small inheritance, but most of that went now to pay her lawyer, and the arrears on the co-op maintenance. Her parents, God love them, had stepped up like champions, scraping together the cash to keep her kids in private school. For all her other needs, though, Lina's salary was no match, and she had long since been dipping into her retirement fund to meet the monthly expenses.

Reprinted from GROUP by Paul Solotaroff by permission of Riverhead Books, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright © 1999 by Paul Solotaroff. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.