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, something to myself how I should try to get some writing time in today too,” and wonders what did I mean? but glad he caught himself again. Over coffee and rolls she says she’s going to her folks later for a few days, but they’ll write. At the door he wants to say “One question only; why’d you sleep with me if you were planning to give me the quick heave?” and going down in the elevator thinks “I hate being so fucking mature,” and slams the wall with his palms, hoping she heard it and knows what the sound means. That night thinks of calling her at her folks and saying “One question only; why’d you even want to meet me at the ship?” Next day thinks of calling her there and saying “Listen, what are you doing that’s so important in New York? You haven’t your own apartment; you’re living out of a suitcase; come to California with me. Not for loveydovemaking but because we’re pals. We’ll be around writers, you can write there and maybe even better than here. You say your play’s about out-of-work stage actors? Well, distance does it, I learned in Paris, writing better than I ever did about New York.” Goes to California. Lots of things happen. Comes back to New York for Christmas to be with his family, didn’t plan to but calls her, they go to a party, dance, holds her close and moves them slowly though not that kind of music, pot passed around but she won’t touch it or even pass it so neither does he, her head against his chest, eyes closed he sees, when out of nowhere he says “You of course know I’ve never stopped loving you since I met you, but didn’t I say almost the exact same thing last time I was in? — I forget,” and she looks up and says “Why do you?” and he says “Love you?” and she nods, kisses his chest, looks up again and nods and he thinks is he on to something here? maybe she wants to be convinced before she says she wants to go to California with him without him even asking her: personality, voice, looks of course, her hair, their sex, intelligence which he should have listed first, perceptiveness, humor, playfulness, even her changeability, her size, breath, shape, smells, kindness, gentleness, how she is with people, those she doesn’t even know, upbringing, way she drives, folks, everything, he can’t think of anything about her he doesn’t admire or like very much or love, her searches, curiosity he means, all the things she’s done and does, oh, they’ve had their differences, let’s face it, but her background, foreground, middleground, she’s laughing, ‘It’s true, I just feel tremendously good with you, holding you like this, dancing, sitting, just knocking on the door here before, and things that can’t be explained: biology, chemistry, psychopathology,” she’s laughing, prospect of babies, brushing her hair, cutting her toenails, sudsing her back, kissing the top of her head like this, does it, she’s laughing, “You name it; the full gamut; that’s why, now that you asked,” and she says “Thank you, sweetie, all very nice, really, I appreciate it, needed it too, but I don’t deserve it from someone so loving and good and after the way I’ve treated you,” and he says “Ah shucks, ma’am,” and she puts her lips up and they kiss and he thinks is this going to be it, tonight, tomorrow, she’s finally decided on him or at least for the time being and who knows till when? don’t say anything; no hopes up; just see. They dance some more, kiss, hold hands while sitting, woman she knows who wants to talk with her alone says “Boy, don’t you two ever separate?” they laugh, later she says “Why don’t I see myself home by taxi?” he says “No, I’ll take you, but by taxi,” when the cab pulls up to her building she says “You don’t want to take it while you have one? They don’t come around here much,” he says “Nah, too expensive; I’ll take the subway,” she says “I have money upstairs if you need,” “No, I’m happy with the subway,” at her door she says “It’s awfully cold out and the whole trip home for you an hour minimum if you don’t take a cab, want to sleep on the couch here?” and he says “With you? — oh, I shouldn’t have said that,” and she says “If we keep our clothes on,” “Then why not in bed if we keep our clothes on? — say, great idea, Howard,” “Because I know you,” and he says “Well, I know you too, so