Such a problem: Should Legal Service lawyer Nina Fischman keep her place in the West 70s or move in with ad exec Jonathan Harris all the way over in the East 80s? And what about the M word, or the chance of moving to California with Jonathan, or those thunder thighs? I'll tell you, there's hardly even time for a mystery, and hardly any mystery either. All right, Jonathan's doorman, Ray Mendez, gets himself shot while he's moving Jonathan's car to the alternate side of the street, and Nina (""yenta extraordinaire"") gets to trace his unsavory connections to a prostitution ring and the city's bland public advocate, but why bother with mystery at all--Piesman (Close Quarters, 1994, etc.) must figure--when you can kiss off Nina's first meeting with an actual hooker with the priceless line, ""Even the worst skanks at Bronx Science went to graduate school""? Yuppies at play, in what feels like a weeklong lunch at a kosher deli.