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her, considering.
    “I’ve had a tiring day,” he said. “Come over here.” It sounded like a command.
    Franny stayed at the desk. “Michael, I think we should talk.”
    He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, not saying a word. His level gaze was daunting. She bowed her head, looked at the carpet, and nervously began playing with her hands, rubbing one with the other.
    “You don’t tell me anything about yourself,” she said. “I don’t know anything about your work … or your life … or your friends.”
    “We’ve been over this, Franny,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m not in the mood to rehash it again.”
    She was silent for a minute. Quietly, she said, still looking at the carpet, “I’m not happy with the way things are. We never do anything together. You find time to spend with your other friends—why can’t you spend more time with me? Why don’t you take me to Fisherman’s Wharf?” Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t know. At times, you seem so distant.”
    “Franny, look at me.”
    She folded her hands on her lap and raised her head. Michael was watching her, reclining on the couch, his hands clasped behind his head, looking patient, as if she were his student.
    “I don’t have a lot of free time, Franny. You knew this about me all along.”
    “I thought, eventually, you’d make time for me, that you would change. I—”
    He held up his hand, indicating he hadn’t finished. “You knew what I was like when you first met me. I never promised you I would change. It’s unreasonable of you to expect me to act differently just because you want me to.”
    Franny looked at the wall above his head. His words sounded so matter-of-fact, so calm, as if he were tolerating her. She didn’t say anything.
    “You have a choice, Franny. If you’re unhappy, you can stop seeing me. Is that what you want?”
    She looked at him and shook her head. “No,” she said. “That’s not what I want. I wasn’t even thinking of that. I love you.” She looked over at the piano, not really seeing it, just thinking. “I was hoping that maybe, with time, you’d feel the same way.”
    Sitting up, he swung his feet to the floor. “Come here, Franny.” His voice was low and patient, and she thought she heard a hint of empathy in it.
    She went over to him and he pulled her gently down to her knees between his legs. She rested her head on his knee, feeling defeated, and he stroked her hair, rubbed her shoulder.
    “I am fond of you, you know that,” he said, still caressing her, speaking softly in a deep voice as smooth as grosgrain. “I won’t make you any promises, but perhaps one day I will fall in love with you. Will you settle for that?” He lifted her chin up so she had to look at him. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
    She nodded, then kissed the palm of his hand. “Yes,” she said. “I can wait. No matter how long it takes,” and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his lap. He continued to hold her, stroking her head, neither of them speaking. In the silence she could hear the clock on the wall ticking, a dog in the distance howling, the rhythmic sound of their breathing. She thought of how wonderful it felt just to be close to Michael, to have him hold her, to feel the warmth of his body, the comforting touch of his hand.
    Softly, he asked, “Are you okay now?” and she nodded, pleased with his tenderness.
    “Good girl,” he said. He pulled her head up and gave her the barest flicker of a smile. “I’ve had an exhausting day,” he said. “I’m really tense and I need you to relieve me. I want you to give me a good suck.”
    Franny stared at him, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. But he was pulling down the zipper of his pants, taking out his penis.
    “Michael, can’t we do this later? I’m not—”
    “Shhh,” he said, putting his fingers over her mouth. “I really need you to take care of me. Now do as I say,” and he pushed her