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the great race of men. As childish and self-centered and piggish as all the rest.”
    “What was his name?”
    “Harold.”
    “Well, you should have known better, then.”
    “What’s wrong with the name Harold?”
    “Nothing, if you’re an early Anglo-Saxon king. Otherwise, come on.”
    “True,” said Weezy. This seemed to cheer her up. “True. Perhaps you’re right. I should have known.”
    “Harold left you for a chickie?”
    “Yes. Yes, he did.” Weezy looked despondent. “It’s too painful, Snooky. Too fresh. I can’t talk about it.”
    “Try.”
    “Okay.” The chair squeaked as she sat back in it. She took off one of her scarves, a filmy beige chiffon, and looped it around her head several times. “He was a doctor.”
    “Oh, God.”
    “I met him in the hospital.”
    “Why were you in the hospital?”
    “Visiting a friend who had just given birth to the most adorable little girl you ever saw. Peaches and cream complexion, not at all like the scrawny red apelike things you usually see in photos. An angelic infant. Lay in her mother’s arms and looked around peacefully while we visited.”
    “Sounds drugged.”
    “Oh, no, no, sweetie, you don’t know my friend. No drugs. Nothing like that. Nothing at all, not even Demerol. Forty-two hours of natural labor.”
    “How did your friend look?”
    “Radiant.”
    “I’m quite sure that’s not true.”
    “All right. Terrible. But the infant was gorgeous. Wasn’t I supposed to be telling you about Harold?”
    “Go on.”
    “Harold was her baby’s pediatrician. Wouldn’t you think that would make him a nice person? A baby doctor.”
    “I don’t know about that.”
    “He came in to check out Alissa while I was there. I don’t know why all newborn girls seem to be named Alissa or Elissa or Elyssa, you know, with a
y
, these days,” Weezy said fretfully. “It seems ridiculous.”
    “They should all be named Louise.”
    “Yes, and the boys should all be named Arthur. Anyway, he came in and looked the baby over, and talked to my friend, and somehow we got to talking, and after the visit was over he walked me to my car and asked me out. That was the beginning of the end.”
    “What did Harold look like?”
    “A tall, dashing person. The kind I like. Dark hair, handsome features, a wonderful nose.”
    “A wonderful nose?”
    “Roman. I itched to draw it. Dark eyes, fair skin. Wonderfully good-looking. After years of dating trolls, it was such a relief to be able to go out in public again.”
    “Trolls?”
    “Oh, yes. Trolls.”
    “And then?”
    “We went out for over a year. Such a sad end to a beautiful time together. Of course, we never did get along. We fought like cats and dogs. He was just divorced, and I think he was still a bit in love with his ex-wife. I was the rebound person, you know, the one they use up and throw away, like Kleenex. Eventually, of course—and how could I not have seen it coming, I ask myself—he met somebody else and left me for her. She was better for him, he said. Much more compatible. Well, as I told him, the Monster of the Black Lagoon would have been more compatible with him than I was. I mean, we fought constantly. But I was heartbroken. I’m still not over it. I may never get over it.”
    “A year is not exactly wasting your youth, Weeze.”
    “It’s wasting a year of it.”
    “Is this Harold why you moved out of Manhattan?”
    “I don’t think so. Not entirely. I had had it with the city. So noisy, so dirty. People everywhere, the traffic, the car horns, the filth. It got unbearable, especially after Harold left.”
    “Are there any eligible men in Ridgewood?”
    “I told you, sweetie. There are no more eligible men anywhere. It’s a lost breed, a lost breed. The rest are all trolls. Deformed creatures from the bowels of the earth.”
    “As a man, speaking for my kind, I must object.”
    “It’s true, I’m telling you. I’ve given up hope. I’ll always be the bridesmaid, never the