There was a spate of silence, a chorus of Gee, you were terrific and You’re sensational and We’ve got to do this more often, all the things good up-to-date people say instead of I love you. Then the man said, “Christ, it’s later than I thought. Half-past ten already. I better get going.”

“Running back home to what’s-her-name?”

“As if you didn’t remember her name.”

“I prefer to forget it. There are moments, my sweet, when I actually manage to forget her existence altogether.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous, baby. Does that come as a surprise to you?”

“Oh, come on, Crystal, you aren’t really jealous.”

“No?”

“Not a chance.”

“Think it’s just a role I play? Maybe you’re right. I couldn’t say. Your tie’s crooked.”

“Mmm, thanks.”

They went on like this, not saying anything I had any enormous need to hear. I had trouble keeping all of my mind on their conversation, not only because it was duller than a Swedish film but because I kept waiting for one or the other of them to stub a toe on the attaché case and wonder aloud how it happened to be there. This, however, did not happen. There was more chitchat, and then she walked him to the door and let him out and locked up after him, and I think I heard the sound of her snicking the sliding bolt shut. Fine precaution to take, lady, I thought, with the burglar already tucked away in your clothes closet.

Then I heard nothing at all for a while, and then the phone rang twice and was answered, and there was a conversation which I couldn’t make out.