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partition into the kitchen, where she sat down at a table next to a gas stove. The sink was jammed with dishes. In front of her was a butt-filled ashtray as well as a purple candle in a wine bottle coated with wax drippings. He lit a cigarette for her and one for himself, then poured them both glasses of Chianti.
    For a moment he left the kitchen, then returned with a drawing pad and a pencil. “Hold that pose,” he said. “I want to sketch you.” He worked rapidly. Ash from his up-ended cigarette fell to the floor. From time to time he sipped at his wine. Her body began to ache. Finally, he showed her what he had done. Ochre lines revealed a figure slumped in dejection, with a sharp face and enormous eyes.
    â€œThat’s me?”
    â€œThat’s you, baby.”
    â€œBut I’m so ugly.”
    â€œThat’s your opinion. Do you think my paintings are ugly?”
    She gazed down at knife cuts on the stained wooden surface of the table.
    â€œWell, the old paintings are beautiful. But the new ones … yes … to me some of them seem ugly. But they’re very powerful,” she stammered, unable to lie to him.
    â€œThat’s the way I see the world. I try to get under the tinsel crap.”
    â€œWhat about the older paintings?”
    â€œI paint what I see. I’ve changed, and so has my vision.”
    â€œI like tinsel,” she said, looking down at a splotch of blue and purple on the table.
    â€œYou’re still a child,” he said.
    â€œI’ve been through a lot.”
    â€œAre you really nineteen, Adrianne?” he asked, taking her hand and gazing hard at her.
    â€œYes, I really am.”
    â€œI thought you were younger,” he said. “Your skin is so smooth.” He let go of her fingers and brushed his hand against her cheek.
    The bare light bulb overhead was beginning to hurt her eyes, and she shut them. In the distance she could hear the sound of night traffic. She thought of how one night Gerald had made love to her on a deserted beach outside of Galveston, and now she could almost feel his touch, feel the sand underneath, and feel the warm water in which they had swum under the dark, clouded sky. That night they had been so close. But then it had all shattered.
    The click of a lighter brought her back to the present. Alfredo had turned off the light and lit the candle.
    â€œThat’s better,” she said. “The light was hard on my eyes.”
    She drank some of her wine.
    In the flickering light, Alfredo’s cheekbones stood out in his lean face. She thought he looked Indian. He pulled her onto his lap, and as he held her close, her longing for Gerald mingled with the waves of energy that coursed along her thighs and through her body. Then she drew away a little.
    â€œYou look frightened,” Alfredo said. The warmth in his voice caused tears to flood her eyes.
    â€œI’ve screwed so many men. I don’t want to be hurt again. I want someone to love me,” she blurted out.
    Why had she said this? She was giving away her power, and she could see herself crumbling into particles in his eyes. His pupils seemed to contract. When he cupped her breast, she jerked away.
    â€œDon’t do that.” His voice sounded colder.
    She tried to speak, but she was shaking with sobs.
    â€œHey, baby.” His voice softened again. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t ever hurt you,” he said. His warm voice so melted her that she felt feverish with wanting him, and she pressed tightly against him, awkward as it was on the chair. “I’ve been with a lot of women. But this is different, and we both know it.”
    â€œHow do we know?” she asked, feeling like a child in his arms.
    â€œWe
know
each other in a way that goes beyond any rational explanation. When I first saw you, an electric shock ran through me. Don’t be frightened, Adrianne. Relax.”
    â€œI’m scared.”
    â€œWhat