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skiing—all that. Very active in charities, social organizations. Took lessons in bridge. Chinese cooking, and music appreciation. Things like that.”
    “No children?”
    “No.”
    “How long were you married?”
    “Ahh…He stared at her. “My God, I can’t remember. Of course. Seven years. Almost eight. Yes, that’s right. Almost eight years.”
    “You didn’t want children?”
    “I didn’t—no.”
    “She?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is that why you divorced?”
    “Oh no. No, that had nothing to do with it. We divorced because—well, why did we divorce? Incompatibility, I guess. We just grew apart. She went her way and I went mine.”
    “What was her way?”
    “You’re very personal.”
    “Yes. You can always refuse to answer.”
    “Well, Gilda is a very healthy, well-adjusted, out-going woman. She likes people, likes children, parties, picnics, the theatre, church. Whenever we went to the theatre or a movie where the audience was asked to sing along with the entertainer or music, she would sing along. That’s the kind of woman she was.”
    “A sing-alonger with a padded brassiere.”
    “And plastic flowers,” he added. “Well, not plastic. But she did buy a dozen roses made of silk. I couldn’t convince her they were wrong.”
    He rose to blow out another three candles. He came back to sit in his Eames chair. Suddenly she came over to sit on the hassock in front of him. She put a light hand on his knee. “What happened?” she whispered.
    “You guessed?” he said, not surprised. “A strange story. I don’t understand it myself.”
    “Have you told the Mortons?”
    “My God, no. I’ve told no one.”
    “But you want to tell me.”
    “Yes I want to tell you. And I want you to explain it to me. Well, Gilda is a normal, healthy woman who enjoys sex. I do too. Our sex was very good. It really was. At the start anyway. But you know, you get older and it doesn’t seem so important. To her, anyway. But I don’t mean to put her down. She was good and enthusiastic in bed. Perhaps unimaginative. Sometimes she’d laugh at me. But a normal, healthy woman.”
    “You keep saying healthy, healthy, healthy.”
    “Well, she was. Is. A big, healthy woman. Big legs. Big breasts. A glow to her skin. Rubens would have loved her. Well…about three years ago we took a summer place for the season on Barnegat Bay. You know where that is?”
    “No.”
    “The Jersey shore. South of Bay Head. It was beautiful. Fine beach, white sand, not too crowded. One afternoon we had some neighbors over for a cook-out. We all had a lot to drink. It was fun. We were all in bathing suits, and we’d drink, get a little buzz on, and then go into the ocean to swim and sober up, and then eat and drink some more. It was a wonderful afternoon. Eventually everyone went home. Gilda and I were alone. Maybe a little drunk, hot from the sun and food and laughing. We went back into our cottage and decided to have sex. So we took off our bathing suits. But we kept our sunglasses on.”
    “Oh.”
    “I don’t know why we did it, but we did. Maybe we thought it was funny. Anyway, we made love wearing those dark, blank glasses so we couldn’t see each other’s eyes.”
    “Did you like it?”
    “The sex? For me it was a revelation, a door opening. I guess Gilda thought it was funny and forgot it. I can never forget it. It was the most sexually exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life. There was something primitive and frightening about it. It’s hard to explain. But it shook me. I wanted to do it again.”
    “But she didn’t?”
    “That’s right. Even after we came back to New York and it was winter, I suggested we wear sunglasses in bed, but she wouldn’t. I suppose you think I’m crazy?”
    “Is that the end of the story?”
    “No. There’s more. Wait until I blow out more candles.”
    “I’ll get them.”
    She snuffed out three more tapers. Only three were left burning, getting down close to the iron sockets. She came back