Maine: A Novel Part 11

For as long as Kathleen could remember, he had wanted her to understand Alice. He had confided in Kathleen about the aunt she never knew who died young in a fire, a fact that Alice always blamed herself for. He had been angry when, in the throes of a teenage brawl with Alice, Kathleen had brought it up just to hurt her mother. She had felt terrible for doing ita"still did, even all these years later. But she had never told anyone the story, not even Maggie or Clare.

aIall look after her,a Kathleen said weakly. aEven though all we have in common is loving you and being bad drunks.a He smiled, shook his head. aYouall both be surprised.a That scared her. Already she had seen too much of Alice in herselfa"how small she felt on occasion; the way she was quick to judge or to argue or to bully. (How many times had Kathleen pushed Ann Marie to do her bidding? And she was proud of it, which was even worse.) There were certain words she was incapable of uttering without sounding like her mother. Even the earthy, almost sour smell of her skin when she woke each morning was like Aliceas, no matter what soap or lotion Kathleen applied before bed. And the drinking. If they had more than that in common, she would rather not find out.

After he told her the news, Kathleen stayed up late every night, doing research. None of it made sense to her. When she read aYour pancreas is about six inches long and looks like a pear lying on its side,a she was filled with rage. This little nothing, this sideways pear, would be enough to kill her father, who was everything? It seemed impossible.

Her dining room table, already piled high with magazines and newspapers and stray socks and Lean Cuisine trays, was now covered in computer printouts about cancer and a dozen library books on natural remedies.

Over the phone, Kathleen cried to Maggie, who was newly in New York and constantly worried that she ought to come home. Kathleen told her to stay put, though she secretly wished Maggie would return, and many weekends she did, always leaving the overage art dealer she was dating behind, thank the universe.

Kathleen wanted a drink more than she ever had in her life. She wondered if Alice felt this way too. She could remember the way one gla.s.s of wine would dull the edges, how two would make her cheeks grow warm, her thoughts turn rosier, more hopeful. But she also knew she was incapable of drinking just one or two gla.s.ses of wine, even though she was occasionally capable of convincing herself otherwise.

She began going to AA meetings twice a day.

Kathleen brought her father teas and herbs that she bought from a well-respected healer in Chinatown. She put a jar of polished runes on his nightstanda"smooth green stones that she told him were for decoration, though in truth she had bought them because it was once believed that they could bring the dead back to life. She lit chakra candles at his bedside that were said to unblock points of stress in the body and allow for white blood cells to thrive. Every morning, as usual, she meditated for two solid hours, but now rather than concentrating on herself, she focused on her fatheras insides, communing with the cancer, willing it to shrink and vanish.

Her family, including Daniel, made fun of her, and she laughed, too, as if to say, I know itas goofy, but indulge me. She realized it was probably bulls.h.i.t, but why not try? Sometimes she even believed that maybe it would work.

In early October, Alice showed up at Kathleenas house, a foil-wrapped package in her hands.

aWhatas that?a Kathleen asked, meeting her at the door, annoyed that Alice hadnat thought to call ahead. She was still in her pajamas and had been out in the back garden in the middle of her morning meditation.

aA coffee cake I got you at the Fruit Basket. Very moist. Delicious.a aA coffee cake you got me, or a coffee cake you and Daddy ate half of before you decided to bring it over here?a aYouave always liked cinnamon swirl.a aYou didnat answer the question.a aYou donat want it, fine. Truth is, youare putting on the pounds lately. Understandable given whatas happened, but still, you have to watch yourself.a Kathleen took in a deep breath. She had only just begun trying to practice patience with her mother, and already she was failing.

They went into the kitchen and sat down. Immediately, Kathleen saw the room through Aliceas eyes. She had never been particularly tidy, but since her father got sick she had gotten worse. There were dishes stacked precariously a foot above the rim of the sink. She hadnat taken the trash out in a week, and the plastic bin was overflowing. When she realized that one of the dogs had peed on the linoleum floor earlier that morning, Kathleen had covered the yellow puddle with a paper towel, planning to deal with it after shead had her coffee.

aCan I get you anything, Mom?a she asked.

aNo, Iall only stay a minute. Your father needs me there.a aIall be close behind you then,a Kathleen said. aI was planning to come over soon.a Aliceas eyes darted dramatically from wall to wall. Kathleen felt her insides tense up.

aThis place is a disaster area,a Alice blurted after a moment. aHow do you stand it?a aI manage,a Kathleen said.

aYou let people come in and see it this way?a aWell, most people wait for an invitation rather than barging in with gently used coffee cake.a aExcuse me for not being Emily Post. My husband has cancer.a aOh, really? I hadnat heard.a Alice sighed and straightened her posture and smiled, as if to say that she was gathering up the sort of strength one needs to talk to a lunatic.

aActually, thatas why Iam here.a aOkay,a Kathleen said. aWhat is it?a aWell, as you know, your father is being very stubborn about the radiation. Iave been thinking about it a lot, and I am convinced that you are the only one who can talk him into it.a Kathleen smiled. aThatas the same thing I thought about you, before I realized he was right.a She felt a certain tenderness for Alice then, and put her hand atop her motheras.

But Alice pulled away. aWhat makes you say that?a aHis cancer is too far gone, Mom. You know that. All that stuff would just make him miserable.a aSo he thinks,a Alice said. aBut thereas always something they can do. They tell him itas too far gone, but I see him every day and heas okay. Heas still himself, Kathleen. I know itas not too late. I am begging you: convince him to do the radiation. If it doesnat work, whatas the harm? At least weall know he tried everything.a aI canat,a Kathleen said. aI want to respect his wishes. Besides, I donat even think Dr. Callo would do it. All we can do now is hope for the best and try to make Dad happy.a She saw from the look in her motheras eyes that Alice had turned a corner, so quickly that Kathleen wasnat even sure of the exact moment it had happened.

Alice got to her feet. aSo youare telling me Iam supposed to sit here and watch him die? And never set foot in a G.o.dd.a.m.n hospital room? Just lie next to him in bed and say, aGood night, darling. I hope you wonat be dead when I wake up.a a aI know itas hard,a Kathleen said.

aThis is youa"your doing,a Alice said hotly. aYour ridiculous herbs and all that. Youave convinced him itas all he needs.a aThatas not true!a Kathleen said, growing angry. aYouare just looking for someone to blame, but this is no oneas fault. And I wonat have this energy thrown at me when we should all be focused on getting him stronger.a aEnergy! Focus! The man needs drugs, Kathleen. He needs a doctor. If you donat at least try to talk to him about treatments, Iall never forgive you.a Kathleen shrugged her shoulders, feigning indifference. It was typical Alice insanity, which her mother would no doubt forget by tomorrow.

But after Alice walked out, Kathleen cried for a long, long time.

When she drove over to her parentsa house later that afternoon and entered their bedroom, her father was asleep. Everything shead brought over in the previous weeksa"the runes and the vitamins and the candles and the teaa"was gone.

He began to deteriorate fast. His skin turned a sickly yellow, and eventually so did the whites in his blue eyes. He was queasy almost all the time, and couldnat keep down a bite of food. He shriveled as they watched, helpless. Daniel had always been a cheerful man, but now he grew melancholy for the first time Kathleen could remember. Everyone wanted to see him laughing again, maybe more for their own sanity than for him. To see him somber was nauseatingly odd, like a bone thatas broken, poking through skin.

They all gathered around him and did what they could. They watched an obscene amount of the Three Stooges and Jackie Gleason on video. Her nephew Ryan sang Danielas favorite old Dean Martin songs. Maggie mailed books of Irish riddles and jokes. Ann Marie made more soup than the average person consumes in a lifetime, and she was tender with Alicea"bringing her gifts and taking her out to lunch every once in a while.

He was never alone. They gathered at Alice and Danielas house, the house they had all grown up in, for dinner five or six nights a week. They sat around his bed. They looked through old photos from the cottage in Mainea"one night, he said plaintively, aIall never see it againaa"and laughed at all his jokes. They let him talk on and on as he told one of his meandering stories, when they would normally have said, aDad, would you wrap it up? We donat have all day.a Kathleen wanted to soak up every second with him. Sometimes she wished the rest of them would go away. She thought that this was the worst part of grievinga"the limbo phase when the person you love most is still there in front of you, but you know he wonat be for long.

By the end, he was down to ninety-seven pounds.

He lived through Thanksgiving and Christmas, and then it became clear that there wasnat much time left. Just after the first of the year, as Kathleen looked out her kitchen window to see a light snow falling on the driveway, her phone rang. He was gone.

Patrick and Ann Marie hopped to it as usual, making all the arrangements. She took a rattled Alice to pick out a casket and called the caterers. He reached out to the lawyer to deal with the will.

He reached out to the lawyer the day their father died. Kathleen still thought of this with disgust: What kind of person?

Patrick was the one who called her with the news that Daniel had left almost everythinga"other than the house and the property in Maine and his pension and some savings for Alicea"to her.

aHe had three hundred thousand dollars, and heas giving it all to you,a Pat said. aClare and Joe get the Caddy. I get a watch of Grandpaas and Dadas two-year-old Pings.a aPings?a aGolf clubs. Itas a lot of money, Kath. You and Dad, up to your old tricks right till the end,a he said, as if they had been in cahoots. In truth, her father had never mentioned money, and she had never thought to ask.

Three hundred thousand dollars was five yearsa salary for Kathleena"more than enough to pay off her childrenas college tuition. But if her brother had thought she would take any joy in this, he was wrong. He and his wife had always cared so much about material possessions. Kathleen only wanted her father back.

After he died, she took a week off from work. She spent five days in bed, getting up only to pee and drink the occasional gla.s.s of water. She didnat check the mail or turn on the television or eat. She didnat want to talk to anyone, besides Maggie, who curled up in bed beside her, running a hand over her hair. They didnat say a word. Kathleen thanked the universe for her daughter, her creation, the only one in this d.a.m.n family who understood her at all.

At the wake, Ann Marie wept hysterically, which made Kathleen insane.

aI want to slap her,a she whispered to Maggie.

aMoma"a Maggie responded warningly, always the more grown-up of the two of them. But a moment later Ann Marieas sobs reached a new level, and even Maggie raised an eyebrow. She leaned close, putting her lips up against Kathleenas ear: aDo you think sheas crying about Grandpa, or the Pings?a A hundred people came to the funeral the next day, even though there was a foot of snow on the ground, and more was falling. Kathleen could hardly manage to change into her navy blue dress, the one Maggie had picked because it was the only thing she had that was close enough to black.

After the Ma.s.s, they went to Pat and Ann Marieas, the house clogged full of people, a stupid tradition. Kathleen didnat feel like talking to anyone. She hardly recognized most of them. They ate ham sandwiches and lasagna off plastic plates, standing up in the kitchen. Each stranger in their turn approached her and awkwardly said how sorry they were, what a good man he was.

They gathered in groups and drank and drank and drank, and laughed uproariously. Why did the Irish always insist on turning a funeral into a frat party? A while pa.s.sed and she wondered how long she had to stay. She knew from experience that it would go on all night.

Kathleen had counseled teenagers through the deaths of their parents. Her life was blessed, relative to so many others. Yet in this moment, she did not care. She was well aware that she was acting like a child, but what did it matter? Her father was gone.

When Ann Marie put out dessert and coffee, Kathleen took an clair and sat on the couch in the den with Ryan and some younger kids she didnat know, watching cartoons, pretending like she was monitoring the childrenas behavior, though in truth, if they had set her hair on fire she might not have noticed.

She watched the credits roll on an episode of something called Ren & Stimpy.

aDo you like SpongeBob?a Ryan was asking the other kids sweetly. aHeas up next.a aYes!a they shouted.

A little boy turned to Kathleen with a huge grin. aHe lives in a pineapple under the sea,a he said. At least thatas what she thought he said.

aOh my,a she replied.

Kathleen envied thema"so many years away from actually feeling the weight of anyoneas death. They were here because someone had dragged them, unsure and unconcerned about whether this was a First Communion or a funeral or some old personas retirement party.

Through the doorway that led to the dining room, she saw Alice standing by the makeshift bar, pouring a gla.s.s of red wine, filling the gla.s.s to its brim. A moment later, she put it to her lips and swallowed nearly half.

Kathleen jumped a bit in her seat. She had not seen her mother drink since she was a child, and no sight could have surprised her more.

She got to her feet and walked out into the hall, looking one way and then the other, for Maggie or Clare. She didnat see either of them. She walked toward Alice.

aMom? What are you doing?a aIam having a drink, what does it look like?a She was drunk. Her lips and teeth were tinged dark blue. How much had she had? Kathleen had the urge to run and get her father.

aMaybe we should get you to bed,a she said.

aTo bed? Itas six oaclock. Iam not some feeble old woman, Kathleen.a A few people gathered around the table glanced over at them now.

Kathleen said, in a hushed voice, aI didnat mean that, Iama"a aWhat? You killed him, and now you want me dead, too, is that it?a Kathleen took a step back.

aNot content to have just most of our money, you want it all,a Alice said, and it took everything in Kathleen not to hit her.

Instead she turned around and made her way through the crowd until she spotted Maggie and Christopher, and then she pulled them by the backs of their shirts as if they were children who had run into traffic. She yanked them toward the door and out to the car, and only then did she allow herself to speak.

aI will never talk to that woman again,a she said.

aWhat did the b.i.t.c.h do now?a Christopher said.

Under other circ.u.mstances she might have worried about his language, even scolded him, but Kathleen was strangely grateful.

The next day, Alice called and left messages in an almost gossipy tone, as if the funeral had been the wedding of a distant cousin: aCall me back so we can discuss Mary Clancyas obvious face-lift,a she said, and aI thought Ann Marieas deviled eggs tasted almost spoiled, didnat you?a That comment made it clear that she knew she had done wrong, but she made no mention of what she had said.

Kathleen went ten months without speaking to her, until they came to a truce brought on by the fact that, like it or not, they had to sit around Ann Marieas Thanksgiving table with the others.

But the resentment lingered on, even now.

A few months after the scene at her fatheras funeral, Kathleen met Arlo. The farm in California was his lifelong dream, and within weeks of meeting each other they were talking about it in earnest. By then, she had already vaguely decided that it was time to leave Ma.s.sachusetts, where all the ghosts of her life remained. Maggie was settled in New York, and Chris was off at Trinity. There was nothing tying her to Boston anymore. The Kellehers thought she was nutsa"ausing Dadas money to fund a worm p.o.o.p farma sounded like the perfect punch line to one of their Kathleen jokes. What stupid decision will she make next?

She and Arlo had known each other for all of six months when they moved. Looking back on it now, Kathleen marveled at her willingness to take such a risk, but she might have jumped at any excuse to leave. Arlo had never been married. He had dated a woman named Flora for seven years, and she still called from time to time, to catch up and wish him well. They were that kind of people. Kathleen really wasnat, but she tried to let it wash over her. She had even gone to dinner with Flora and Arlo once, to a quiet candlelit place up the mountain, and listened almost contentedly as Flora told them about her pottery studio in Portland, her life spent dating Dead Heads (aEven now, no one else does it for mea), her years with Arlo (aWe thought we were soul mates because our names were almost anagramsa). It was worth it when Kathleen heard Arlo describe their life. It sounded peaceful, fulfilled. And it was.

She knew that for her it was at least partially about being away from the Kellehers. For the first time in her life, her chaotic family was at a distance. She didnat have to be a part of all that anymore. Then again, she didnat get to be a part of all that anymore. Shead hear crazy stories about gossip and arguments and misunderstandingsa"from her kids, from Clare, and from Alice, now that the hatchet was more or less buried between thema"and once in a while she would find with some surprise that part of her missed it, in spite of everything.

And there was guilt, the trademark emotion of the faith they were born into. When Kathleen promised her dad that she would take care of Alice, she had forgotten how impossible that would be. She knew that women in her position werenat supposed to roam so far. You were supposed to stick by your children and your aging parents, sacrificing your middle decades for their comfort, no matter what they had put you through. No matter what.

Maggie.

Maggie and Rhiannon had arranged to drive to Maine on Tuesday morning. By the time she woke up, Gabe still hadnat called. Her sharp disappointment made her realize how much she had been hoping, believing, he might come around. She felt weighted down with gloom, but somehow managed to drag herself toward the shower so that shead be on time. Politeness above all else, she thought. Where the h.e.l.l had she learned to be like that? By watching her mother, she realized, and then doing the exact opposite of what she saw. Or possibly it came from her aunt Ann Marie.

Maggie made her way next door with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, just half of what she had originally packed, since shead be staying only a few days now.

She knocked, and Rhiannon appeared in a cotton sheath that ended at the midpoint of her thigh. (aYour knees should have a party and invite your skirt down,a Maggieas grandfather had said whenever she wore a dress he deemed too short.) Maggie had never had a knack for clothing. Women in New York amazed her with their perfectly chiseled bodies; their ability to wear stiletto heels in rain, sleet, or snow; and their innate resolve around bread baskets. Given the choice, shead prefer that everyone walk around in a potato sack to level the playing field a bit.

Her size-eight jeans had felt snug when she put them on this morning. Now they felt as tight as snake skin, and she had to remind herself that she was pregnant, after all (while sparing herself the knowledge that the size eights were tight long before she was pregnant).

They were on the road at nine fifteen, and had already stopped for rations by nine thirty. Rhiannon pumped the gas while Maggie went inside to pay and get breakfast.

aSomething very sugary with nine hundred grams of fat,a Rhiannon requested, surprising her.

aI like the way you think.a Maggie walked the aisles as an instrumental version of Journeyas aOpen Armsa played over the loudspeaker. Gabe had drunkenly belted out the song at the karaoke birthday party of one of his former co-workers a few weeks earlier.

She couldnat quite say where they were now. Queens, maybe.

Her phone was in her pocket and set to vibrate. She pulled a bag of powdered mini doughnuts from a hook on a wall of processed desserts.

The man behind the counter wore a cross the size of a brick around his neck. She thought of the tiny silver crucifix she herself had worn as a child, the type her grandmother and Aunt Ann Marie still wore to this day. That sort of understated cross, always tucked into a sweater or blouse, said, aI love Jesus Christ.a A cross like the one this man wore seemed to say, aI want you to think I love Jesus Christ.a aNice day for driving,a he said as he rang up her purchases. aLucky youare not stuck in here.a She considered pointing to her head and saying, aWell, youare lucky youare not stuck in here.a Instead, she just smiled. aHave a good one,a she said.

Back in the car, Maggie opened the bag of doughnuts and handed one to Rhiannon.

aOnward, driver,a she said.

She was grateful to Rhiannon for the special treatment. But she couldnat help thinking she should be with Gabe right now, driving fast, laughing and singing along to the radio. She suddenly wondered what the h.e.l.l she had been thinking. She sucked on her bottom lip to keep from crying, feeling like a stupid little girl.

aSo,a Rhiannon said cheerfully. aOn a scale of one to ten, how much do you feel like killing yourself today?a Maggie grinned. aNo comment.a aI know how you feel,a Rhiannon said. aI got pregnant when I was still married to Liam. I found out two days after the first time he shoved me. Which was also the day I knew Iad leave him. Though I probably knew long before that. Iam not actually the settling-down type, as it turns out.a Maggie hadnat heard any of this before.

aHe shoved you?a she said now.

aYeah, he used to like to push me around a bit.a She said it so casually. Were Gabeas crimes really anything compared to this?

aWhat did you do?a Maggie asked.

aI had an abortion. I never told him about it.a Maggie inhaled deeply. aWow.a aYeah. I was thinking about your situation after you left last night. Youare brave. Iam glad you told me. I never told anyone. It seems like the logical people to tell would be a best friend, your mother, your husband. Well, clearly my husband was out. My best friend was someone I hadnat talked to in a year. And my mother and I have never once discussed anything more consequential than tennis results.a Maggie didnat know how to reply. She knew her relationship with her own mother stretched way too far in the other direction. Once, when she was an adolescent, away at her fatheras place for the weekend, Kathleen had not only read Maggieas diary, but actually made notes in the margins, such as These negative feelings about your body are very common, but you must learn to see them as side effects of our messed-up culture and This jacka.s.s is simply not worth your crush. Reminds me of someone I slept with in college, who turned out to be gay.

Twenty years of sobriety and a career in the mental health field hadnat stopped Kathleen from oversharing: Maggie was thirty-two and still working on creating what her therapist called athe generational boundaries.a A few times, Kathleen had come to New York unannounced and stayed in Maggieas cramped apartment, sleeping in the bed with her, for two, three weeks at a stretch. It drove Maggie insane, but she never had the heart to tell Kathleen to leave, or to check into a hotel like normal parents would do. And when it came time for her to go, they would both cry.

aI always wished there was a bit more distance between my mother and me. Sheas told me much more than I ever wanted to know about her personal life,a Maggie said, and instantly felt guilty for saying so. aSometimes Iad give my left arm for the kind of mother who only talks tennis.a aWhy havenat you told her about the baby yet?a Rhiannon asked.

aHer opinion can completely color my judgment, and I wanted to make up my own mind first. Does that make sense?a Rhiannon nodded. aIn a way, I envy the connection you have. Before I left home, I really tried to get my mother to talk,a she said. aI tried to cut out the falseness between us and get her to fight with me about what she resented. Those dark things that happen in every family. But she wouldnat, or she couldnat.a Maggie wondered about the dark things, what that came down to in Rhiannonas life. She wanted to hear more, but Rhiannon said, in a different tone, suggesting she didnat want to go further: aDo you know anyone like that, or is this a Scottish trait?a aMy grandmother is the same way,a Maggie said. aShe never wants to talk to me about anything more meaningful than the fact that Bounty paper towels are on sale.a They drove on for a while without talking, NPR on in the background. Maggie thought about Gabe. She wondered whether she would ever wake up again with her head on his bare chest. She tried to imagine how she might go to any of their favorite places without hima"the movie theater in Brooklyn Heights, which had only 150 seats and served egg creams, or the old Italian bakeries in Carroll Gardens where a black and white cookie the size of your head cost a dollar. She pictured herself pushing a stroller up Court Street in the cold, surrounded by strangers.

She turned to Rhiannon, and without thinking she asked, aDid you ever consider raising that baby alone?a aNot for a second,a Rhiannon said. aThatas why I think youare so amazing.a aOr possibly insane,a Maggie said.

aWill you go back to Gabe if he asks?a aI donat know,a Maggie said, though she was fairly sure she did. aI have a lot invested in him.a aFor what itas worth, I know itas a tough situation, but I think you can do much better. Marriage would only make it worse, believe me. You think it will sort of fill in the lines, cover over the splotchy bits. But in fact it does the opposite.a aI know,a Maggie said, though sometimes she had believed that if they got married, the rest would work itself out. All around New York Citya"on the subway, in the cafeteria at worka"were wedding bands on the fingers of men her age, the men who hadnat been ready to commit back when she met Gabe, and had somehow gotten scooped up in the meantime, every last one of them a shiny reminder of what she didnat have.

She knew it was strange, how badly she wanted to be married, despite what she had seen. The urge seemed hardwired, so that each time she heard of something bad happening to an adulta"a co-worker of her dadas got laid off, a friend of her motheras had emphysemaa"the first question out of her mouth was always, aIs he married?a As if that guaranteed safety, someone who would tenderly care for you forever, instead of resenting you for losing your job or smoking all those years when she had begged you to quit.

It wasnat a terribly liberated thought, but sometimes Maggie envied her grandmother and other women from her generation, for whom love and marriage and children seemed automatic, a given.

aDespite what heas put me through, I really do love him,a she said now.

aHmm.a Rhiannon nodded her head. aLoveas a b.i.t.c.h.a aI have this theory about how the things we love destroy us,a Maggie said.

aOh, I love theories like that. Go on,a Rhiannon said.

As far as she had seen, Maggie explained, what made people and pleased them, and threatened to ultimately ruin them, was love. Not romantic love necessarily, but the love of something, the thing that defined your life. Her mother was in love with booze. While other people might have a gla.s.s or two of wine with dinner because they liked it well enough, Kathleen loved the stuff, and so it destroyed her. Her uncle Patrick and aunt Ann Marie loved status, money, appearancea"that would wreck them one day, if it hadnat already.

Maggie herself did not love liquor, though she feared its power over her anyway, knowing how alcoholism ran through her veins like blood. She didnat love money, either. If she had enough for a roof over her head and school loan payments, if she could find a way to afford to raise a child, that would be plenty.

Maggieas ruinous love had always been men. She fell for someone, and desperation overtook her. She wanted him all to herself, to build a coc.o.o.n around the two of them, to keep him safe, but more so, to keep him near. She lost interest in her work and friends, though she tried to pretend otherwise. In every other way, she was controlled, sensible. But men brought out some crazy part of her. Gabe wasnat the first. Before him there had been Martin, the fifty-two-year-old gallery owner who she had met during an informational interview in Manhattan her senior year of college. She had sent along some fiction samples with her rsum, and the first thing Martin said to her was what she most wanted to hear: aYouare no gallerist. Youare a writer.a He was handsome, charming, knew all the most interesting people in the city. They had dinner that night in the West Village, at a dimly lit caf that she was never able to find again. When they were leaving, his long fingers brushed her neck as he helped her into her coat. They went back to his apartmenta"surprisingly cramped for a man his agea"and made love in his bed. He seemed to love her youth, running his hands over her thighs, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, saying again and again that she had the smoothest skin he had ever touched. She thought his agea"the slight wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the strength and a.s.surance of his handsa"suited her old soul much better than those shiny-faced college boys back at Kenyon.

After graduation, she moved into his place. He helped her get a job at a small literary journal run by a friend of his. The affair lasted a year. When it ended she felt empty and lonesome; she immediately met Chad Patterson, a kid from Wisconsin, two years her junior, who had come to New York to be an actor. He had been crashing on friendsa futons, and she offered to put him up in her new studio, mostly because she hated sleeping alone. The arrangement had all the makings of a perfect disaster, and it fell apart quickly, though three months after their official breakup, he was still staying on the couch. She could bear to throw him out only after she returned home late one night to find him wrapped up in the long legs of some blonde head met at a callback for Baby with the Bathwater.