propriétaire, if that’s for the man, said was safe to drink,” thinks why the hell don’t I tell him I can’t stand him and am immensely jealous because he knows all he has to do to get her back is phone her and act nice and apologize and say everything’s going to be peachy-keen between them from now on in and that even though he understands her all right she’s too fucking good for him and that she only lived with him and stayed in love this long and would go back to him because she’s a bloody self-destructive putz. Every time he gets a letter from her he goes to the small fenced-in park across from the hotel to read it, and if it’s raining, to the café a street away to read it over coffee and a brioche, even if it’s delivered in the third mail. Gets a writing fellowship to California and she says she’ll meet him at the ship when it docks in New York. She’s not there. Calls her at the apartment she’s sitting for and she says “I phoned your home for the exact arrival time and your mother asked me not to meet you, that I’ve done enough harm and shouldn’t even try to see you because if I do you’ll probably stay here and forget the fellowship. I’m sorry she feels that way but I can see what she means. My changeability has had a long string of messing things up.” “You really think so? Ah, we’re past that. Can I come over now?” “Love for you to.” “Where you going?” his mother says and he says “Janine, I have to give her something somebody gave me for her in Paris and was too breakable to send,” and she says “You’re nuts,” and his father says “A glutton for punishment; let him out of here, he won’t listen to us anyway.” Kisses her at the door. It was just to be on the cheek from his part but she puts her lips out, arms around him — he follows but lets his hands droop — and pulls him in, keeps him there. Gets an erection, backs away and says he’s sorry, “thought I could control it though it used to happen all the time when I was a kid — could barely get on the dance floor with anyone,” and she says “It’s natural so who’s worrying about it? And so many men are homosexual these days or letting it all come out what’s always been hidden or stifled, that I’m glad to see you haven’t changed. Just because it’d be so surprising, I think I’d become a nun if you became a homo, I mean gay.” They go out for dinner, hold hands on the table, say little, gaze into each other’s eyes, laugh about that, “What’s come over us, monsieur?” and he says “Compression, dilution, shrinkage, the aging process, Irma the Girl in Wraparound Body Plastic, the Little White Cloud That Cried, good ole Yankee soil, light and loose summer clothes, but don’t listen to me since I don’t know anything, but probably nothing, niente, yenta,” kiss hands (hers), rub cheeks against knuckles (his), knock off a bottle of Chianti, later make love. He thought it could happen and at the table devised a plan for the walk back and after to help it take place: act the way he did when he saw her at the Lipsatzes two years after their first big breakup: indifferent, distracted, uninterested, looking at everything but her (store windows, passersby, traffic, sky), talking — little he did and which had to be extracted — about uninteresting things: weather, world, hands in his pants pockets. At the door he said what he’d planned to: “Well, I’ll see ya,” waved (planned), turned (unplanned) to the elevator (if she didn’t say anything he was going to turn back to her and say “Oh, good night,”) when she said “This might be impertinent and maybe completely undesirable to you, but would you like to spend the night here? — you can,” and he said “Where, on the narrow couch?” She was shaking her head and smiling but he said “No offense meant, but after that tiny bunkbed aboard ship for nine days I need a real box spring and mattress,” and she said “With me; I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but if there’s to be a discussion about it then we should forget it because I don’t want to have it in my borrowed public hallway.” “No problem, I’d like to,” and went around her before she could change her mind, which he thought she was thinking she might, inside, said he was very tired, “I’m going straight to the bedroom if it’s all right,” she said “Good idea; I’m pretty tired and a bit tipsy too,” no kisses, made sure not to touch her or smile, till she came out of the bathroom naked, turned on the fan and climbed into bed — he was already in it, wishing they’d shared a beer on the couch and he’d slowly taken off her clothes and then she’d helped him off with his. Thinks it’s going to be just this one time: way she turned over after they were done, no good night kiss, and moved away during the night each time he pressed up to her or put his foot on hers. “Something the matter?” he asked once and she said “Nothing, why should it be?” and he said “I hope it wasn’t my disinterested attitude before we went to bed and possibly even on the street — I was just thinking about other things then: ship this morning, being back, flying to California in a few days — I don’t even have a place there to stay yet or know how I’m going to get from airport to campus housing office,” and she said “You were fine, everything’s all right, and I can understand: moving around so much can do it.” Nah, something’s wrong: gaze and stuff at dinner were an act (not on his part) or the wine, or plus it, and going to bed with him, and he’s being realistic here, not self-pummeling, was probably the first of her every-third-year gift to him for being such a dopey faithful friend. He should know by now nothing he does will work with her; even if she said she loved him he wouldn’t believe it; he doesn’t know what she’d have to do for it to take; if she said she wanted to come to California with him, he’d let her, but still wouldn’t believe she’d stay. What would he care? She’d help him settle in, take away the jitters of a new place, few days’ lays, fellow fellowists or whatever they’re called would see he came with someone of substance or just beautiful and engaging and after she left there’d be other women out there: bigger, blonder, less something, more something, younger, fresh. If she said “Let’s get married,” he’d say OK and if she actually did it — he’d never push — only then would he say it took, but maybe even then he’d be suspect. So maybe after a couple of years of relatively untroubled marriage; probably only then, and also with a baby or when she was visibly pregnant with the first. So he tries making the most of it when he wakes up and she’s still sleeping. If there’s one time he’s going to remember her, this is to be it, but that’s never worked much either. Slowly pulls the sheet off of her. She’s on her back, knee up before it settles and rests, eyelids for a few seconds fluttering. Loves her body: hard, soft, no tan or extra bulge, light fuzz on her arms and legs; never shaved, freckled chest. Gently puts his face up to her pubic hair and skims his lips through it. Smells: no odor; inhales: there’s something, more of urine and vaginal cream, but not much; wants to lick it but doesn’t want to wake her. Could be she’s awake, curious what he’s doing, peering at him through the thinnest eyeslits. Maybe wants him to do what he wants to but doesn’t want to show she’s awake for it might stop him. If they only had a signal. Inspects her breasts, area around the aureoles, nipple tips, as much as he can see inside her vagina without parting it, legs, neck, arms, armpit, hair there, curves, midriff. To see if he can detect any change in her body since he saw her naked years ago. No new lines, scars, bumps, weight gain, gray. Face next to hers now; she’s smiling while sleeping but no fluttering. Is she up, maybe waiting for him to just get on top of her and stick it in? He’s ready and probably won’t have another chance, maybe ever. Her reasoning: doesn’t want him to think she wants it a second time when she does, long as he’s here; then he might think she wants him to stay. No, not how women feel or think. Time he wanted to rape her; glad he didn’t, her participation better than any forced lay, and of course other things: stigma, prison, her rage. And once in, which should be easy with last night’s semen and grease and if need be his spit, even if she objected and didn’t want it, he thinks she’d let him finish if he was quick. In a way rape but all she’d have to do was say get off and if he wasn’t coming at the time or in a few seconds, he would. Oscillating fan lifting her head hair up and moving her pubic hair every time it blows her way, plus the horripilation on her legs. “You up,” he whispers, “or just your goose bumps and hair?” Smile doesn’t turn smilier; she’s asleep, lids fluttering again, or is that a trick? Only that once last night, he wanted it again but she said kind of drowsily “My poor pussy’s conked out before I have, so not possible.” Wanted to say “You don’t have to do a thing, just stay there, asleep if you want,” but caught himself moment before he was going to say it, also dropped the grin. “What do you mean ‘poor’—I was too rough or went in too far?” “I think I have the beginning of a yeast thing in there, but nothing that should spread.” “Then maybe in the morning if you’re feeling better,” and she said “Fine… nice… what’re we talking of?… really, sleepy, sweetie, OK?…” and then seemed to be asleep, that kind of breathing. Kissed her shoulder, erection jammed against her behind, hoping she’d make a little wiggling move or something suggesting he stick it in. Bet if he had, halfway or less, quarterway or just the head or tip, she wouldn’t have noticed it. Should have, then moved the way he would and jerking it with his hand; probably so little left, wouldn’t have been a mess. Six-thirty but bright out; puts his arm across her, sheet up and feels himself getting sleepy. Next thing: she’s nudging him awake with her toes, sitting on the bed stretching, saying she’s been writing a play these days, neglected to tell him because she didn’t think he’d be interested, and is dying to get at it, so he’ll have to leave right after a quick continental breakfast, and jumps out of bed. “You see?” he shouts and from the bathroom she says angrily “See what?” and he says “Nothing,