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bachelor from the day of his birth, but whose sardonic sense of humor made him fun to be with, in small doses. Wayne and Susan had kidded a few times about getting soft Jill and hard Larry together, and what a disaster
that
would be!
    But Wayne didn't like the Jill idea now. 'Why?' he asked. 'Don't you want to see this famous Lucie?'
    'Absolutely not,' she said. 'And I don't want to meet Bryce Proctorr, and I don't want to know any more details about what you're, what you're going to
do
than you absolutely have to tell me.'
    'What is this, deniability?' he asked. He was grinning, but he wasn't amused.
    'No, of course not,' she said. 'Wayne, this is
your
decision, because it's your burden, whichever way you choose. If I'm part of the decision, it isn't yours any more, and you'll never trust it. Years to come, you'll still have doubts.'
    'But you
are
part of the decision. You say our marriage won't last if I take a teaching job at some college, and goddam it, you're probably right. So you are part of it.'
    'Not the decision
making
,' Susan insisted. 'I'm not copping out, Wayne, but I don't want to have my own opinion of Lucie Proctorr, or whatever she calls herself. My opinion doesn't matter. My opinion could only complicate things for you, and if I go see her, you'll have to ask me what I think, and I'll have to tell you, and I don't want us in that position.'
    He said, 'So you want me to go on my own.'
    'You have to. In this, you are on your own.'
    'But we do everything together, Susan.'
    'Not everything,' she said.
     
5
     
    Early Friday afternoon, before leaving town for the weekend, Bryce stopped in to see his lawyer, having called for an appointment. Not lawyer Bob, the divorce man, but his real lawyer, Fred Silver. Fred and lawyer Bob — who thought of himself as Robert Jacoby — were both with the same firm, with offices in the Graybar Building, upstairs from Grand Central. Perfect for Bryce, who'd be taking Metro North into Connecticut.
    Fred Silver's hair was silver, and everything about him seemed to flow from this conflux of name and hair. Smooth, gleaming, controlled, expensive. He gave Bryce the same smooth handshake as always, gestured with his clean plump hand at the leather chair where Bryce always sat, and took his seat across the desk from him to say, 'Bob tells me things are moving along.'
    'Now ask me,' Bryce said.
    Fred chuckled. 'The client always thinks these things take too long. Wait till it's over, you'll be glad Bob dotted the i's.'
    'What a lot of i's you have, grandma,' Bryce said. 'But that isn't why I'm here.'
    'No, of course not.'
    'I need a contract written,' Bryce said. 'I need it as soon as possible, and I need it in absolute secrecy.'
    Fred gave him a startled and curious look; Bryce Proctorr was not a client who normally came up with surprises. 'Whatever you tell me, you know,' he said, and waved a hand to suggest the rest of the sentence.
    'Yes, naturally. Is private.' Bryce rubbed his left hand over his face, as though brushing away cobwebs. It was a gesture that had become frequent with him this last year, though he wasn't yet aware of it. 'You know,' he said, 'this divorce, all this dotting of i's, it's seen a real distraction.'
    'Of course it has.'
    'I haven't been able to work.'
    'I know it's hard to concentrate with—'
    'No, Fred, I haven't been able to work. Not at all.'
    Once more, Fred was surprised. 'You haven't said anything.'
    'I haven't exactly been lying,' Bryce said, but I haven't been admitting the truth either, Joe asks me — you know, my editor — how's the new book coming along, I say slow. Well, zero is slow, isn't it?'
    'Zero? Bryce, honestly, you aren't working at
all?'
    'I don't like to go into the room with the computer,' Bryce told him. 'I'll let a week go by without even looking to see if I have any E-mail.'
    Fred now looked very worried. 'Are you seeing anybody?'
    'What do you mean, therapy? Fred, I know what the problem is. I have this buzzing in my ear and