“I wasn’t strong enough, Victor. You knew that about me from the first. I needed to be adored.”

“And he adored you.”

“Madly.”

“I always wondered. Where did you meet him?”

“In an elevator. He struck up a conversation, offered to buy me a drink. This was after you started pulling away. I was feeling vulnerable. I let him buy me a manhattan. He had nice hands.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“And he wore a Rolex.”

“There it is, the secret of my undoing. A Rolex.”

“It was a very nice watch,” she said.

“And you didn’t give me a chance after that.”

“I did, don’t you remember? I told you about him, and you turned away.”

“You told me there was someone else. I was supposed to take you out dancing?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t going to fight for you.”

“And right there was the problem. I could tell that all you wanted was a way out. So I gave it to you.”

“You don’t know how much it hurt.”

“Yes I do,” she said.

Granted, her display of bitterness didn’t include the brilliant image of the three of us hoisting a pitcher of piss, but it was plenty tough and plenty accurate, and it hurt like only the truth of things can hurt.

So of course we met for drinks.

We met at a hotel bar, something intimate and classy. At this point the enterprise takes on an air of inevitability. Over drinks we each blamed ourselves for what happened. It was my fault. No my fault. No really, my fault. Okay, your fault. Shared laughter. All part of the dance. And the next part too. So really, no really, how are you?

Not so good, either one of us.

Her marriage had died, become a farce. Her husband had shady business dealings and a mistress with blond hair and skinny legs, and she didn’t really care. When I met Julia, she had been an art student, pulling espressos at the local coffee shop. Now she didn’t know what she would do with the rest of her life. But she needed a change, she said. She was ready to change everything.