“I figured anything Maxine Rothaus called rough was, in fact, vicious and lawless and inclined to eat its own young.”

“I figured Maxine probably had bathroom trips preplanned and efficiently choreographed.”

“I think he painted the way he did," I answered, "because he had something perfect with Diana."I braced myself for her next scathing insight and nearly fell over when she reached out to pat my hand. Her wedding ring was a heavy,hammered gold band that could probably pound nails."Nothing but the occasional espresso is perfect," she said, not unkindly. "Let me share some wisdom, Willing Girl. Relationships are like Whack-a-Mole. You squash one annoying deformity and another one pops up in no time."Not your classic sentiment, there. Or a particularly heartening one. It seemed well meant, though, so I figured it might be a good time to inform her, "Um, my name....is Ella. Marino.""Oh,I know who you are, Miss Marino," she shot back. "Shall I mention again that the Willing Foundation doesn't?""No,Dr. Rothaus," I said meekly. "No need.""Excellent." Dr. Rothaus headed for the door. "You may call me Maxine. Good luck finding something I haven't. And don't cry on the materials.”

“Dealing with my French teacher is one thing; she wears pants with little whales on them. But I was convinced Dr. Rothaus could smell a lie from ten words away. I found myself feeling sorry for any children she might have. I imagined them as shadowy figures with excellent posture and skill at declamation.”

“Favorite painting...?""Painting? Odalisque," I said."Really.His non-nude nude. Interesting."It was,to me. Edward's most famous painting of Diana is Troie, where he painted her as Helen of Troy: naked except for the diamond bracelet and the occasional tendril of auburn hair. It had caused quite a stir at its exhibition. Apparently, Millicent Carnegie Biddle fainted on seeing it. It wasn't quite what she was used to viewing when she sat across from Mrs. Edward Willing every few weeks, sipping tea from Wedgewood china cups. Odalisque was more daring in its way, and infinitely more interesting to me. Most of the Post-Impressionist painters did an odalisque, or harem girl, reclining on a sofa or carpet, promising with their eyes that whatever it was that they did to men, they did it well. An odalisque was almost compulsory material.But unlike any of them,Edward had painted his subject-Diana-covered from neck to ankle in shimmery gauze.Covered,but still the ultimate object of desire."Why that one?" Dr. Rothaus asked."I don't know-""Oh,please.Don't go all stupid teenager on me now.You know exactly why you like the painting.Humor me and articulate it."I felt myself beginning the ubiquitos shoulder dip. "Okay. Everyone is covering up something. I guess I think there's an interesting question there.""'What are they hiding?'"I shook my head. "'Does it make a difference?'""Ah." One sharp corner of her mouth lifted. I would hesitate to call it a smile. "That is interesting.But your favorite Willing piece isn't a painting.""How-""You hesitated when I asked. Let me guess...Ravaged Man?""How-""You're a young woman. And-" Dr. Rothaus levered herself off the desk-"you went through the 1899 file. I know the archive.”

“Something I don't want anyone to know, Alex? I am a dissillusioned former hopeless romantic with larcenous tendencies.But I did kill the verbal part of the PSATs.The way I saw it,I had three options.1.I could take the stuff to Maxine. "Hey,look what I found." Confession of theft optional and probably not smart.2. I could slip them back into the book and pretend they never existed.3. I could destroy them.Option two sounded just marvelous.”

“I went into the hall and looked out the front window for the twentienth time and told myself to relax for the fiftieth. It could not be healthy, this breathless, silly, heart-pounding state I'd been in since I'd called him back and left a message and he'd called me back and I'd been convinced he could hear my heartbeat through the phone. All so I could run around my room like a hamster on crack, tripping over discarded jeans and trying to figure out where I'd dropped yesterday's bra.”