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get away from David. Otherwise you’ll never…”
    “What? Never what?”
    “Nothing. It’s really none of my business.”
    “No,” said Loren, “tell me.”
    “Well,” said Gregory. “It just seems odd to me. Like it’s not really resolved.”
    “What?”
    “You and David. How you feel about each other. At least that’s the feeling I get.”
    “We’re friends. I mean, maybe we’re more than friends, but is that so strange? We were married.”
    “But now you’re divorced.”
    “I know we’re divorced. It was my idea. I’m glad we’re divorced.”
    “Oh,” said Gregory. “It’s just hard to tell sometimes. And I just thought, maybe if you moved away, you know, really got far away from him, you could…I don’t know, figure out better what’s going on.”
    “I know what’s going on,” said Loren. “Nothing’s going on.”
    “Okay, then,” said Gregory, “don’t get upset.”
    “I’m not upset,” said Loren, sounding upset, so she said it again. “I’m not upset,” she said more calmly.
    “Good,” said Gregory. He reached across the table and touched her arm. “I’m glad you’re honest with me,” he said. “I love you.”

CHAPTER 6
    “I WAS SERIOUS BEFORE, YOU KNOW,” Anton Shawangunk said.
    “You were serious?” said Amanda Paine. “Good God, let’s call a press conference.”
    “Don’t be a bitch,” said Anton. “I hate you when you’re bitchy.”
    “I thought you hated me period,” said Amanda.
    “I never said I hated you. You’re such an alarmist. No, baby. I just, you know—my candle for you kind of flickered out.”
    “You have such a way with words,” said Amanda.
    “Do you think these oysters are still good?” Anton asked. “Don’t they spoil after a while?”
    “I’m sure they’re fine, darling. Why don’t you just slurp them all up? I love watching you slurp oysters.”
    “Whatever turns you on,” Anton said. He picked up an oyster and sniffed at it. “It smells funny,” he said. “Here, try it.”
    “Fuck you,” Amanda said.
    Anton laughed. “It was a joke, baby,” he said.
    Amanda picked up the platter of oysters. She took them into the kitchen and dumped them into the garbage. There was a little bit of champagne left in one of the bottles and she drank it. It tasted flat. She went back into the living room.
    Anton was lying on the floor, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He had a bad back and often lay on the floor. When they were having their affair, Amanda had thought it was sweet. She’d often woken up at night to find him asleep on the floor. She’d get out of bed and join him.
    “So what’s the story with you and that guy?” Anton asked.
    Amanda stood gazing out the window. She had the feeling Anton was looking up her dress, but she didn’t care. Let the bastard get his sick thrills, she thought.
    “What guy?” she said.
    “The guy who was here. The photographer. Heath Bar Crunch or whatever.”
    “His name is Heath Jackson. Heath Edward Jackson.”
    “So do you have the hots for him?” asked Anton.
    “You wish,” said Amanda.
    “I could care less,” said Anton.
    “You mean you couldn’t care less,” said Amanda. “At least that’s what I presume you mean. God only knows. Actually, I doubt God knows. Anyway, I think he’s gay.”
    “Who, God?”
    “No. Heath Edward Jackson.”
    “So you don’t have the hots for him?”
    “No. And I wish you’d stop using that expression. I’m an adult. I don’t get the hots for people.”
    “Too bad for you,” said Anton. He reached out and clasped her ankle. “So why are we giving him a show?”
    “Why do you think?” asked Amanda, shaking her foot from his grasp.
    “I told you why I thought. I thought you had the you-know-whats.”
    “That’s not the way I operate.”
    “That’s how you operated with David Vaiden.”
    “David Vaiden is a great painter.”
    “So what’s Heath Bar Crunch?” asked Anton.
    A joke, Amanda said to herself. A sweet