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

He glanced at Lathon for comment, then thought better of it, remembering the time. In any case, life was a lot better these days than when he first came in for treatment. He had a great new girlfriend, thanks in large part to the doctor, who'd helped him find the courage to go out looking again. And he was pretty much over the throes of the divorce, which had hurt him very badly and made him leery of a repeat. Things were happening fast with Kara--in fact, he was set to move in with her next week, after knowing her for only five months--and suddenly, his nerves were acting up again. He was waking bolt upright at three in the morning, his palms sweating like a pair of--

He stopped and looked at his hands, which were toweling themselves on the armrests.

"See?" he groaned. "I don't even know I'm doing it half the time. This is exactly how it was as a kid."

Mortified, he shoved his hands under his thighs, where they remained in detention for ten minutes. Changing tack, he talked about his other concern--getting his career out of the ditch it had fallen into. For eight years, he'd worked at one of the Big Five accounting firms, where he'd been repeatedly passed over for promotions. It was really starting to eat at him, pulling sixty-hour weeks--going in on weekends to clean up other people's workloads, and earning first-rate yearly reviews at bonus time--only to watch someone else make partner because he had his nose up the Big Man's butt. To be sure, Peter conceded, he was a lousy politician. He froze up around the watercooler, and didn't fare well at the corporate picnics, where he was all left feet in the three-legged races. He wasn't an ex-jock or a born self-promoter, one of those cigar-smoking twits who knew how to order a martini. He was just a quiet, steady guy who broke his tail for the firm, and it was high time they showed some respect for that.

He finished with a scowl and clamped his teeth shut for emphasis, aroused by his own warm rhetoric. His voice, normally a monotone, rose by a full note before cracking at the end for lack of air. Even his feet came to life, drumming in place on the floorboards, working off his ginned-up animus.

There was a moment's pause before Rex put his hand up. "Could I ask a question now?"

"Uhhh . . ." Lathon grimaced, clearly disinclined. "Is it answerable in twenty words or less?"

"Well, I can ask it in twenty or less," said Rex, flashing his showy smile. Turning to Peter, he said, "You know, I hear what you're saying about being hacked off. I mean, if I worked somewhere and didn't make partner in eight years, I'd be up there with a shotgun and a ski mask. So my question is why haven't you gone somewhere else? It must be so beat, getting up and going in each morning."

"Ah, good question," said Lathon. "Concise, and on the mark. How about it, Peter? You want to take a whack at it in these last minutes?"

"Ummm . . . sure," said Peter, though he seemed suddenly back on his heels. "I suppose I would say it's because . . . uh, I'm not really sure, to be honest. In fact, I--I haven't even sent out my résumé yet. I was waiting to see how my review would go, and then have a talk with the department VP, but I guess I . . ."

He gazed at the floor, his forehead glossed by a light sweat. "I don't really know," he said.

"Well, hey, you're probably focusing on the move to your girlfriend's," said Rex, trying to fill some dead air.

"Um, yeah, I guess so," said Peter, grateful for the help. "Except that, actually, I wasn't. In fact, that was one of my reasons for changing jobs. You see, my girlfriend does very well financially, and it's kind of . . . embarrassing to make so much less than her. And so I really wanted to find something, or get a raise where I am, before we moved in together. That way, I could sort of hold my own, and not feel like a gold digger around her. . . ."

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.