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said.
    He flashed on moonlight and a grainy screen. "I have a wife," he blurted out.
    "It's like high school again," she said. "Never the right time. Maybe someday we'll meet when the moment's ripe."
    He wanted her, she wanted him, but thoughts of Eloise fettered him. "Give me something to remember," he said. "Something to fantasize about till then."
    Years of longing pressed his mouth to hers.

    When he woke the next morning, his lips felt bruised and raw. He stared into the mirror, wondering what to tell—if to tell—Eloise. He didn't want to leave her, he realized. He was done with fantasies, illusions. They had built a good life together, one that outweighed any castle in the air.
    Something about Casey made him wary. He'd sensed it before, first in girls and then in women—ones who thought themselves in total control of the relationship. Sometimes arrogance, sometimes just a deep belief in the power of pussy. Casey thought she had him sewed up, and that set him on edge.
    Making coffee, he glanced out the window. Rain. But he'd left his hat at Fred's loft. When he called, Fred said sure, come over and get it.
    He took a cab, thinking about Casey, going over and over the memory of the kiss on the balcony, the way she had looked at him when he'd stammered goodnight. She burned in his mind. He felt himself fluttering too close. Eloise, think of Eloise, of the comfortable house and the deck they liked to sit out on and read to each other. Eloise understood him, and liked him more than he liked himself, truth be told. Was the same true of Casey? Was she amusing herself with another three-day wonder like Alf, or was she in it for the long haul?
    He complimented Fred on the loft again. Fred was blue-striped bath-robed, barefoot, and sleepy-haired.
    "The place is all right," Fred said with a twist of his lips. "The view is nice, anyway. Have you seen Casey's place?"
    Embarrassment struck Glen. What was Fred implying?
    "No," he said.
    "Not yet, eh?" Fred said.
    "What do you mean?"
    Fred looked at him, surprised. "She wants you. You can tell that, certainly."
    "Yes," he said. The wonder of it fluttered in his chest. He added, "But I'm married, I told her that."
    "Ah, a touch of frustration to up the tension. Well played."
    Glen had the sensation of treading water far out of his depth. "I don't ... "
    Fred said, "Do you love your wife?"
    "Beyond any question," Glen replied without hesitating.
    "How sad." Fred shoved the hat towards Glen and gestured at the door.
    Glen resisted. "What do you mean by that?"
    "Things have a way of working out for Casey," Fred said.

    Two weeks later, Eloise was hit by a car that jumped the curb when its gas pedal got stuck.
    She had been on her way to the hardware store to get a washer to fix a leaky faucet. Glen's first thought upon hearing the news was ridiculous irritation, a petty infant whimper regarding who would take care of small house repairs now.
    Then the news hit him.
    The bottom dropped out of his world. Shattered. He could feel himself flying in all directions, out of control. Helpless to control the explosion that tore him apart.

    Casey wasn't at the funeral, but Fred was.
    "A real shame," he said.
    Glen fumbled for the unthinkable. "Fred ... you said ... did Casey have something to do with this?"
    Fred studied his face. That same old avidity, a greedy hummingbird sipping at Glen's emotions. "How could she have?"
    "I don't know ... all of you four ... everything seems so golden for you," he said helplessly.
    Fred grinned. "Oh, does it seem odd? Are you waking up, zombie boy? Or is this all just part of her overall game? I thought she had this one refined by now, but she's never been finished working on you. What's the appeal, I wonder? All that shaggy poetic charm, with your hipster beard and earnest look and outlet jeans?"
    Other people in the funeral crowd were watching. Glen leaned into Fred and said, low and fierce as he could manage, "I don't know what you mean, but I will, I