“You should do that more often,” he said. “Laugh, I mean.”“I know.” But that sounded sad, and she didn’t want to be sad, so she added, “I don’t often get to torture grown men, though.”“Really?” he murmured. “I would think you do it all the time.”She looked at him.“When you walk into a room,” he said softly, “the air changes.”

“Feminist,” he said, clearly amused. “Next you’ll be telling us you hate men.”She gave him a blank look. “I only hate stupid men who don’t actually understand what ‘feminist’ means.”He laughed. “You run into a lot of men like that?”“All the time.”“Really?”“Even as we speak, Nick.”“Oh no she didn’t,” said Peter. I groaned.”

“The other night when I walked by and saw you in the media lounge, I fantasized about throwing you up on the table and doing you right there on top of the dessert trays.”“Sounds ... messy.”“And fun. I thought about all the interesting places I’d get to lick you clean.”She sounded as if she were holding her breath when she said, “I thought you don’t eat sugar.”He laughed. “I want to eat yours,” he said as he kissed the crook of her neck. “Does that shock you, little Jane?”

“He said someday I would come home and regret ever leaving."She murmured something, perhaps her own remembrance of a place lost. "Do you?" she said after some time."Yes . . . I mean to say, no," he corrected. "Oh, bother, I don't know.""Don't fret over it. You can't get back the time you've lived, and all you have is what is before you," she said sagely."Egads, I find myself betrothed to a bluestocking," he teased. "Who was that, Aristotle?"She laughed. "No, Aunt Bedelia.”

“What are you doing ?" She said and laughed. "I was curious," he whispered. "About what ?""If happy tears taste the same as the sad ones," he said.”

“now look, she said, stretched out on the bed, I don’t want anything personal, let’s just do it, I don’t want to get involved, got it? she kicked off her high-heeled shoes… sure, he said, standing there, let’s just pretend that we’ve already done it, there’s nothing less involved than that, is there? what the hell do you mean? she asked. I mean, he said, I’d rather drink anyhow. and he poured himself one. it was a lousy night in Vegas and he walked to the window and looked out at the dumb lights. you a fag? she asked, you a god damned fag? no, he said. you don’t have to get shitty,...”