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“in a Cary Grant kind of way…” reappeared in vibrantly contrasting fragments, “besides he’s married.” Karen shook her head, “men can be so fucking stupid.” Stephanie frowned, “of course he’s married,” while examining the strands of pasta, “and it was all pretty brazen on his part,” slivers of garlic and blots of greenish olive oil on her plate, “as well as mine for going along with it,” then looked over at Karen and quietly asked, “Are you feeling any better?” The water dripping from the kitchen faucet had filled the saucepan in the bottom of the sink. Karen ignored her question, “Do you think he’ll call you,” while thinking about the video artist that she had been dating for a month, “or do you think that,” and who had stopped returning her calls last week, “seeing him once is going to be enough?” Stephanie noted her sullen expression, “I take it that you don’t want to talk about it any more.” Karen topped off her glass with the rest of the wine before asking, “How old is he?” Stephanie hadn’t been involved with anyone since her fiancé abruptly ended their five-year relationship the year prior, claiming that he needed to be closer to his family, and moved back to London. Since then she hadn’t met anyone interesting and hadn’t really been dating. “Your age I guess,” Stephanie considered Karen’s reaction before quietly adding, “and his wife just had a baby.” “Ewww,” Karen made a face, “he’s just another creep!” “I know,” Stephanie held up her hands, “I know,” and grinned, “that was when it got really weird!” Karen prodded her, “A boy or a girl?” Stephanie sighed, “a girl… she’s three-months old,” with a skewed smile, “and no he didn’t break out the photo album.” Karen nodded, “and he’s loaded,” then coolly concluded, “unhappily married and rich.” “He didn’t seem all that unhappy to me,” she defensively stated. Karen regarded Stephanie’s dark brown eyes, “well,” bordered by long black lashes, “there’s obviously something seriously wrong with him,” her full unpainted mouth, “or it’s just some weird Oedipal thing,” and her thick wavy hair that she dyed with henna at least once a month, “So why did you go along with it?” “He made me laugh a lot,” Stephanie scratched her upper left arm, “and besides, the kid thing was initially left out,” then studied her fingernails before asking, “And how is that Oedipal when he is older than me?” Karen shrugged, “maybe you look like his mother when he was a boy,” as her speculative tone grew condescending, “and he was jealous of his younger sister.” Stephanie rolled her eyes, “I can see those therapy sessions are finally starting to pay off,” and rested her elbows on the table. “It’s good to know that I’m finally getting my money’s worth,” Karen grinned, “you know I heard a really funny joke in therapy yesterday.” She tried to remember Alan’s last name while asking, “Oh really?” “I’ll tell you later,” with a dismissive wave of her hand, “You’re not going to call him are you?”
    A block of diffused sunlight warmed Stephanie’s legs as she sat before the broad storefront window and removed the pair of blue satin open-toed heels from the black shoebox. “No,” she took her glass off the table, “no way,” and finished her wine. Her long auburn hair fell onto her shoulders as she slid her bare feet into the shoes and then carefully buckled up the thin ankle straps. “It would make your summer a bit more interesting,” Karen prodded her with raised eyebrows,