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back upstream and died
a living death in some backwater high-rise.
    He was there, and she went up to him.
    “ What’ll it be,” he said.
    “ I saw you earlier today,” she said. “I
was on the patio with my friend.”
    “ I remember you,” he said. “The Banana
Banshee. Can I get you another?”
    “ What time are you off work?” she
said.
    “ I’ll be out of here just after 12,” he
said.
    “ Were you attracted to me?” she said.
“Or was that just your way of hustling a tip?”
    “ I was looking,” he said.
    She took a cocktail napkin from his tray,
along with his pen, and began carefully drawing.
    “ This is my address,” she said. “It’s
right off Wilshire. I’ve been married to the same man for
twenty-nine years--I’m sure that’s longer than you are old. In all
that time, I’ve never been with anybody else. Today that man served
me with divorce papers. Now listen to me. I’m going home and going
to bed--but I’m leaving the back door open. Do I have to say
anything else?”
    He cleared his throat. “Do you even want to
know my name?” he said.
    “ Not really,” she said.
    “ It’s Huntington,” he said. “What’s
yours?”
    “ Let’s not make it awkward,” she said,
turning on her heel and heading straight out through the
back.
     
    Chapter
7
     
    “ I can tell by your boldness you’ve
done this before,” Beckie said. “And often. But just because you’re
assertive, don’t expect me to get me warmed up to the point
emotionally where I become attached to you and start to whimper
over you simply because you’re sleeping in my bed. And don’t think
for a minute because you’ve managed to get this far, that I’m going
to be fixing you a fancy breakfast in the morning. If you’re
hungry, and you can’t find anything yourself, you can ask me, but
I’ll probably just open a can. And another thing--I expect you to
be quiet in here, and don’t think I’m going to be screaming out
your name at any time, or making up cute little pet names or other
terms of endearment--no, it’s not ever going to be like that. From
this point on, you’re just going to be Mr. Boopers, and that’s all
you’ll ever be.”
    This being said, Mr. Boopers, flushed with
victory at having recently, with only a few barks, sent a giant
shark packing, turned around three times at Beckie’s feet and
curled into a tiny ball. Beckie, teeth freshly brushed, and wearing
her best silk teddy, turned out the light and waited. The curtains
were half-open and the moonlight illumined the shelf on the
opposite wall which supported her collections of miniature
brick-a-brac, a row of antique porcelain glazed figurines gathered
here and there along the pathway of her twenty-nine years of
marriage.
    Suddenly, she needed to open the curtains all
the way to let the rest of the moonlight in--that’d been something
she’d always wanted to do before, but Bernie, with his problems
sleeping, had never allowed it. She remembered the time they’d
stayed at the condo in Palm Springs in August, and how she’d slept
outside in her swimsuit by the pool in the full moonlight on a
night so hot even her sweat dried instantly, wishing Bernie would
join her where she lay, awash in the intense spirituality of the
moon’s rays--but he’d stayed true to form, preferring to sleep by
himself alone in the air-conditioned grotto.
    I was hot and he was cold, she thought.
Rising from her bed, she threw open the curtains and fiercely
breathed in the moonbeams--it wasn’t much, but it was a step
towards something. She returned to bed and joined Mr. Boopers atop
the sheets, as though to re-create the moment from long ago in Palm
Springs.
    No, she thought. Bernie wasn’t always cold.
She remembered the time she came back from a trip with Leah to San
Diego and Bernie was waiting for her, the dining table set with
their wedding silver, the magnificent pieces surrounding a large
vase of white chrysanthemums--her favorite, in the center of