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forever.)
    Danny needed to be needed. More than anything he wanted to feel like a man in the most traditional sense of the word, although he would never have uttered those words out loud to anyone, except in some veiled manner in bed. He wasn’t sure why he was ashamed of this fact, but he thought a lot of men around him felt the same way. They’re all just waiting for some girl who will never arrive, a pretty one with a tinkling laugh, who will cling to their shoulder as if she could not stand without its support. But Danny felt he should have something different, and he spends the rest of his life looking for it. Were it, in fact, a different era entirely, perhaps fifty years previous, when people would marry—and stay married—for relatively small reasons, Sarah Lee could have made him happy for the rest of his life.
    In any case he had no use for her today.
    Instead, after she said, “Wow, India! That sounds so exciting. You sure do lead an interesting life,” he pursed his lips to the left, so that his cheek puffed up slightly, and then sighed. He slapped his hands down on the table, looked to his buddies, nodded at them, and then said, “Right. I’m heading out. Later, guys.” He turned his head to her, “Sarah, a pleasure. Sorry we can’t chat but…”
    He didn’t bother to finish the sentence. His head was already somewhere else. He got up from the table, thought he heard the word “pie” from behind him—pie, that sounded good—and kept on walking in a straight line.
     
     
    OVER ON THE GRASS, Melanie and Douglas rolled around on top of each other, wrestling as play.
    “You’re the funniest girl I’ve ever met,” he said.
    “No,
you’re
funny,” she said.
    Eventually they stopped and stretched out on their backs, looking up at the collection of stars in the sky.
    “Also, I think you are beautiful,” said Douglas.
    Melanie reached out and held his hand, and they stayed like that until someone called their names. They both sighed. They were happier than everyone else at the party, and they knew they were inspiring jealousy. All those lonely men, and Sarah Lee, who just got blown off by a millionaire.
     
     
    HE DIDN ’ T EVEN hear me. I should run after him. Throw him to the ground. Put my hand down his pants. Bite his ear. Give him honey kisses. Tickle his belly. Feed him pie.

 
     

     

 
     
    M aggie and Robert were drinking gin and tonics at the patio bar of the most popular restaurant in town. It was their fourth date, and it wasn’t going anywhere, at least as far as Maggie was concerned, but she couldn’t seem to say no when he called. Robert thought they were taking it nice and slow. Maggie had started drinking more on their dates to make them more interesting, or at least to create a tolerable haze, and Robert kept up with her like a puppy running after its new owner. So while she usually had only two drinks in an evening, Maggie was now on her fourth. Robert had gotten there early to secure a good seat before it got too crowded (This really was
the
place in town, he told her. She was new. She needed his help), so he was on his fifth. And now they were both drunk, she more than he.
    “I want to tell you about my day,” said Robert. He stopped short of saying, “I want to tell you everything about me.”
    “So tell me about your day,” said Maggie. “That’s what I’m here for, to listen. To you. And your day.” She ducked her head down. Her auburn hair—thick and soft to the touch—dangled over her shoulders, which were covered, like her cheeks, with freckles. Then she raised her eyes up, opened and closed them slowly, then brushed her cheek against her bare shoulder, like a cat cleaning itself. It was a move that had brought down many men, a move that said nothing at all, yet had the portent of sexuality. She didn’t know where she had learned it, only that she had been doing it forever. It had started out maybe as a way to hide, eyes downcast. But then she