The one good thing was that the nights were all theirs, and that would make up for a lot. Just being wherever Julie was made up for a lot. Still, it was going to be a long week. Here it was, not quite the end of the first day, and already he was bored stiff. He turned an ear to the discussion around him in hopes that the subject had changed to something more amenable.

"…feel that way about it, what's wrong with a mechanical prusiker?” someone was spiritedly demanding. “The Heibler clamp, for example?"

This was met with incredulous laughter. “The Heibler? You gotta be kidding! The minute you put any lateral load-bearing stress-"

Gideon tuned out again. He looked out over the quiet water. He looked for a while at the other party across the room. The silver-haired man at the head of the table, wasn't he familiar? No, he decided; he simply looked like the generic Hollywood version of the Great Novelist, as seen on movie screens a hundred times: long, wavy white hair, craggy features, cashmere jacket, even an ascot tucked into an open-throated shirt. Gideon's interest wandered, and he looked out the window again. He uncrossed his legs. He toyed with the dessert menu card. He sighed.

Julie turned toward him. “Gideon? Anything wrong?"

"No, just a little restless. Too much coffee, I suppose."

"I don't think that's what it is. I don't think you enjoy being my spouse."

"I love being your spouse. It's my all-time favorite occupation."

"That's not what I mean."