and living in the city she could type eighty-five words a minute. I spilled wine, shaping the two puddles into eyebrows, the legs of a face. Roger bumped elbows with her and didn't apologize. Jenna ate the northeast region of her plate and a sliver of the southwest. Gloria refilled everyone's glass. Jenna mixed the salad with her pasta, ruining all sense of geography. Gloria turned the stereo up. I never liked Bach and I didn't like him that night. Jenna refilled her glass and mine. Roger said he loved Central Park and couldn't wait until the summer. Gloria refilled her glass and Roger's. Jenna told a story about a child-molesting Boy Scout leader from the day's Post. Roger said he loved Girl Scout mint cookies, what were they called, Tiny Mints? I wondered if I was gaining weight. Should I start running? But running is so boring. Thin Mints, Jenna said. Gloria told a funny story about the opera. Roger said he had never been to the ballet. Jenna tried to look into my eyes. I found Gloria's foot but her toes curled away from me like when you try to hold a cat's tail. Dinner ended.

"There's still dessert!" Gloria promised. "Roger brought us something he made. I, for one, am very impressed." She patted his forearm.
"It's just some profiteroles," Roger said sheepishly.
"Wow," Jenna said. "Wait, do they have cream in them?"
"Would you like to help me prepare them Roger," Gloria asked, heading for the kitchen.
"No no," I said. "Roger, you're a guest. Stay seated and talk about baseball. Jenna is nuts about the Yankees. She wears the hat whenever she hasn't had time to shower."
In the kitchen, Gloria was arranging little green Japanese tea cups. I tried to kiss her but she squirmed away, knocking over the pepper mill.
"Listen, don't ruin this," she whispered. "It's all very nice and pleasant." I reached for her breasts. She smacked my hand away.
"Let's talk in the bathroom." I bit her ear.
"Eric," she whispered, tugging free the lobe. "Stop it."
"It's only fair. I know what's happening."
"It's called dessert."
"Okay, we'll both play dumb," I said, and announced in a loud voice, "I cut myself! Let's get a Band-Aid!"
I dragged Gloria out the back door of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the master bathroom, with its pink shellfish motif. Gloria closed the door and faced me with her arms crossed.
"You're acting like a child. You can't just haul me off to the bathroom when you want to talk. Jenna's in the dining room. Be reasonable."
I locked the door.
"But Gloria, that's the plan. It's all going just the way you wanted. Right now they're chatting away about Joe DiMaggio and Pete fucking Rose. They're falling in love."
"Why are you acting like this?"
"You want him."
"Want who?"
"Do you even remember who you're talking to?"
"Listen, I didn't want to bring it up now, tonight, but this has to stop. I've been feeling like this for some time, and I'm just, well I'm stopping it. Let's be reasonable about it,

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