It excited Luc to see the curve of her arm in the candlelight. She burned her fingers and gave them a little shake. The small pain she felt, putting the tip of her finger in her mouth, was enough to make him desire her. He took her in his arms and kissed her, the kiss of an adolescent, swaggering, fulfilling his image of himself. She did not relax into his embrace. She did not raise her eyes. It put him at a loss. He let her go with a small spasm of anguish for his future. He went into the kitchen, confused for a moment at what he was doing there.       Julie heard him open the fridge and then the clatter of beer bottles. She doubted that he would ever be of any help to her. Worse, really, trying to behave according to some strange idea of what was expected of him and getting it all wrong and drinking too many beers, but happy in his own way.       Taking a long drink from the cool beer, Luc looked through Julie’s music. He came across something that reminded him of a night he had spent on a Caribbean beach, his only holiday. He was facing the sea, in the dark, alone. The other tourists were half a mile down the road at the outdoor disco. He was lonely, but the sound of the music did not feel like an invitation for him to go and join the others.       He didn’t want to take his eyes off the sky with its millions of stars, such blissful abundance. Then a girl more alone than he was came walking along the beach. The strains of the song had become embedded in his memory with that of the girl and of the joy of her naked hip in the damp grass of the dunes beneath him.       He hadn’t planned to go back home. He would spend his life in the easy warmth. It would be no better or worse a choice than any other he could make. Better, in fact, he’d get rich trafficking. Eventually, he got fed up and went to the airport, just like that. He sweated in line at the terminal, while the stern security guards walked soundlessly across the linoleum behind him. The boredom of the wait held no romance at all. He lost his temper. The customs guard gave him a contemptuous look. He didn’t feel normal again until the plane touched down. He was relieved when he got back to the city. He felt that it leant him weight and gave him a terrestrial security on which to base his amphibious opinion of himself. Turn a little, said Eddie. Now bend over, yeah. Yeah.       Like this?       I guess that’s right. Good.       Alex undid the buttons of her sheer blouse. Underneath, she was wearing red sparkling pasties with little red tassels. She removed her blouse. She leaned forward toward Eddie as best she could in the small space between the coffee table and the tv. She lifted her skirt above the edge of her black stockings, teasing.       Eddie relaxed and allowed the heat to rise in his body at the sight of that morsel. He undid his pants, let them fall open, to allow some of that heat to escape.       Alex swayed her hips. The tips of the blonde wig brushed stiffly against her shoulders. She raised her eyebrows, eyes wide, with the expression of an innocent girl astonished at the ease by which she could give a man an erection. She parted her moist lips, made the gesture of a kiss, equally enticing and repellent on account of the eyebrow-pencil moustache that she had painted above her red mouth. The sheets billowed over them. It reminded Julie of the sails of a boat. A residual feeling of unease, connected with the idea of skimming across the unpredictable waves of the lake, came and went. Luc stretched out beside her. He moved with slow deliberation across her soft skin. She didn’t have the courage to question him. She couldn’t ask him for a simple explanation. She couldn’t say as much as Where were you? If she asked him once, then she would have to ask him every time. She waited. She hoped he would share the secrets that he held so naturally, so possessively.       He uncoiled himself from the bed linens. There was a slight sheen of sweat across his forehead. He placed one foot and then the other on the floor and slowly stood up.       Are you okay?       Luc lifted his body as if he himself were the burden he carried. He kept a stubborn silence while he pulled on his underwear and socks. He picked up his pants off the floor. His legs were as thin as those of a homeless man. The black hairs were an indictment. Luc’s vertebrae, in the ordinary gesture of leaning forward, emphasized his narrow torso. The light played on the curve of his back. His spine looked as prominent as that of a prehistoric creature. Julie suddenly thought of taking his photograph for National Geographic. A short guilty sigh escaped from between her lips, which were a little dry and soft from the hour before.       Luc turned his head. He wore a tough expression, incongruous with his socks and briefs. He looked at Julie as if he were staring into the night forest, on alert in the animal kingdom. She was reminded of those reptiles that when startled displayed their natural armour.       I love you, you know, she said.       He relaxed, straightened and put on his pants, looking over the seascape of white sheets covering the woman whose blonde hair fanned out across the pillow. She looked back at him with kindness, with loving intensity. He walked up to the bed and lay down on top of her, covering her body with his own.       Yeah, me too, he said.       Under the reassurance of that weight, Julie allowed herself to drift into a half-sleep.       I’ve got to go now, he said after a little while. More and more, Alex needed Julie. She loved Julie more than anyone, except, of course, for Nikki. Her love for Nikki had been cemented when they were little girls playing in Nikki’s backyard where something indelible had flowered, a fragrant and tender empathy over the game of Barbie torture chamber, where every cruelty and humiliation was connected to the secret, unknown commodity of sex.       Alex looked in the closet and considered the possibilities: a sheer red sheath beside a pale, shimmering black jacquard, the ruffle on a silk blouse, a velvet ball gown. She was unaware of how long she had been standing there in her black slip and pantyhose, looking from the mirror to the closet. She slid a dress from its hanger and held it up. Yes, gorgeous.       So she decorated herself with her girlfriends? You couldn’t worry about every little thing, could you?       Julie was the only one who really got it. A little chill ran through her. She sat on the bed, crushing a dress beneath her slightly heavy hips. Shaking, she lit a cigarette. Julie was the perfectly accurate observer of her, Alex’s, life. Her witness made it real, blooming. She felt another small shudder and a little tear welled up, which she carefully brushed away so as not to smudge her makeup.       Jesus Christ. Now I’m going to have to take her every goddamn place I go.       She reached into the closet again and chose the cocktail dress that she loved but almost never wore because it was a little too tight and made it difficult to breathe. She lifted her legs, slim as a colt’s, and stepped into it, shimmying it up her body. She struggled with the zipper. She smoothed her hands down her belly and admired herself in the mirror once more. Luc sat at the counter, placed his hands palm down on its smooth laminate surface and waited for the waitress to pour the large coffee he ordered. He prepared himself for work by watching the teenage girls wasting their time in the café. It was relaxing to hear the white noise of their gentle voices. They flitted past his table, effervescent, wearing their sensible school uniforms and high heels. After some whispers and giggles, one of the girls, hiding shyly behind her auburn hair, bummed a smoke from him.       He held the pack out to her with one cigarette extended. What’s your name? he asked.       She whispered her name inaudibly, slipped the cigarette out of the pack and turned away. Her little heart racing, she walked back to her girlfriends with a gracefulness that was astonishing, bound as she was in her slutty shoes. Luc took a drink of his coffee. He nodded to the young girls. The one who had taken the cigarette blushed. He was pleased. He thought of Julie, her body, nude, her pliant femininity.       A woman placed her hand lightly on the back of his neck. In that second, with the table of girls in front of him, their long legs and knee socks, he felt a powerful pleasurable tightening in his gut. The woman circled his chair, letting her hand trail across his shoulder. She stepped in front of him and sat down.       Oh it’s you, he said.       I’m sorry … I really am, you know.       He glared at her.       How was I supposed to know what was going on?       I could have died.       No way, you wouldn’t have died. Anyway, you could have warned me. Come on …       I did warn you.       Will you forgive me? she teased.       He wouldn’t answer her.       You’re still a sulky baby, she said in an attempt to remind him of their first night together, its emptiness and its promise. Please. Please … I’ll make it up to you. Come on.       She reached her hand out to him. It hung suspended in the pale pink light, waiting. Luc took it, warm and soft. He let himself be carried away by the sound in his head of the electronic bells of the Lucky Seven. Out of habit, he ignored the vague doubts that surfaced to menace him.       Leah led him between the tables. The young girls giggled after them as they went out. On the street outside of Alex’s building the dusk descended. Leaving day for night, Julie went through the door. The drapes were drawn, the candles lit. Alex’s apartment was the land of the Magic Eight Ball. Ask any question and the truth was revealed. Lost love, money troubles, bad health, all mysteries solved with Yes, No or Ask Again. In the centre of the room Alex stood with the smallest hint of a smile.       What’s this dating game?       You have to get ready for the date by rolling the dice for pieces of clothing. The first girl who gets everything on, down to her shoes, gets to go on the date.       Not very true to life, is it? First girl with everything off, more like.       Alex smiled. By the way, you are late, she said pointedly.       Well …       No, stop it. What have you brought? Good. Very good.       They went at mixing their drinks as if it were a religious vocation.       Have you talked to Chandra in the last couple of days? Julie asked.       No, why?       You should call her.       Why should I? Alex looked exasperated. She took a long swallow of her gin.       I think she thinks we’ve got some kind of a conspiracy going against her.       Oh, Jesus Christ.       Um, you’ve got a little something at the corner of your mouth, said Julie.       Alex licked her finger and rubbed her face. She went into the bathroom to look in the mirror.       Julie took a tour through the apartment, admiring Alex’s stuff. A dresser that had been painted a hundred times and was now mauve with large blue and green beads glued to it held a collection of mementos. Julie stroked the peacock feather that flowered out of a tall vase, deciding not to mention that it was said to be bad luck to have them in the house. There was a pincushion with a handful of antique hatpins beside the feathers. One pin was especially beautiful – it was in the shape of a raven about to take flight and had an elaborate decorative head in black enamel, studded with rhinestones. Julie pulled the pin out of the cushion; it was longer than the span of her hand. She tapped its point, still dangerously sharp.       Don’t touch my things, Alex said. She reached out and snatched the hatpin out of Julie’s hand and jabbed it back into the pincushion.       Sorry, said Julie.       Julie sat down at the little table. There was writing paper and pens scattered across it, and Julie glanced over the pages. It took a moment for her to recognize that in front of her were love letters.       Leonard? she said. You’re writing to Leonard?       What the hell do you think you’re doing looking at my stuff? Alex walked over to the table and gently covered the letter as if it were a sleeping child.       For your information, he happens to be a poet among men, said Alex.       For me, it was always Jim, said Julie. The way he was so alone on the frontier like that, always so sad, searching the universe for love … and always making out with a hot babe in some ugly plastic airport lounge.       Are you trying to make me sick? asked Alex.       And then the babe always turned out to be an evil salt-sucking creature. It was so tragic. Poor Jim, no wonder he was lonely. He was the loneliest man in the whole universe. You had to love him for that.       Alex rolled her eyes and took a sip of her gin. Jim was a greaseball, she said. Mr. Spock, there’s a man you can really get all hot over. Stamina. Now, can we get the hell out of here?       Jim had plenty of stamina.       Jim was shooting his wad left, right and centre, said Alex. They stepped out of the taxi, Alex’s long legs, the high heels, one foot then the other on the curb. They crossed over Spadina, the Styx that divided Alex’s real life from her fantasy life.       It’s not going to rain, said Julie.       Like you know.       On the other side of the street they came across some ribbons of yellow crime-scene tape fluttering in the warm breeze. The street was quiet and there was no longer any sign of the struggle that had taken place.       It gives me the creeps, said Julie. Let’s go.       No, wait a sec, said Alex. She circled the area looking at the dirty sidewalk with the half-closed eyes of a psychic searching for clues to the remains.       Don’t you love crimes, she said. I only read the newspaper for stories about crimes. Oh, and my horoscope, of course. I love the details, the crime scene, the weapon … She shivered. And especially the victim. You know, if she’s young and beautiful, it just makes me want to cry. Ever notice that if the victim has a criminal record or is a druggie or something they never feel too much sympathy for her?       Come on, Sherlock, let’s go, said Julie.       Or lezzies, forget it. That pisses me off.       Are you done yet?       I love every criminal. The more violent he is the better. Every one of them is really Monsieur Genet, you know.       Oh my God. Sorry to tell you this, but …       Oh, shut up, said Alex, laughing. What do you know? Miss Mod Squad, she said slowly, drawing it out on her tongue, pursing her lips, passing it over to Julie as if it were a valuable artifact.       The Yun-qi club was in a basement beneath a head shop. It had a pool table, a mirrored wall, a disco ball that did not spin and a bartender with a soft voice who brought bottles of beer to the tables with a poised, hospitable grace. Alex led Julie down the stairs into the darkened room.       Eddie and Luc were drinking at a table at the back of the club. Seeing herself as a vision in her platform shoes, as if they were the inevitable and unwavering stage from which she would always take her bows, Alex swept across the floor and rushed over to the men. She sat down, pulling them close on either side of her. She whispered to Eddie and then turned and whispered to Luc.       Julie stood at the entrance, having taken up a kind of sentry position when she had walked in. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. She was surprised at seeing Luc, who had not told her where he was going that night.       Julie was wearing a green velvet dress. Its verdant color was as lush as moss. Its tight waist and pleats, its seams adhered to the shape of her body. Its subtle construction was like a low, monotonous voice, pleading. It was the kind of dress that insisted. A hand must be placed on the small of the back. Must be placed around the waist. It was essential. The other hand could do as it liked. It could caress the throat, white, pulsing slightly with its birdlike rhythm. Or it could discreetly touch the curve of the breast, exposed, at the neckline. Or nothing, rest on the shoulder, naked except for the velvet strap, under the rough skin of the hand, fingers lightly stroking, the prints unidentifiable after so many years of accidents, of having so often been singed by fire. The warmth of his body would penetrate the fabric of the dress easily, were he to stand just so.       Luc couldn't fail to notice. He noticed.       Alex saw the swift look Luc gave Julie. She stood up, walked over to Julie and took her by the arm. She walked her over to the pool table. Alex put a coin in the slot. The balls rolled noisily free. Julie tossed them onto the table. She broke.       Luc watched the women shoot. It made him uncomfortable that they played so well.       They’re good, he said to Eddie.       I wouldn’t play with them, said Eddie. You’ve got to know when to keep the hell out of their way.       Yeah. Want a beer?       Yeah, you?       Scotch.       It took Luc a while to figure out what it was about Julie that caused him to feel that ache at his temple. It was that she appeared, he hated to use the word, carefree. The nostalgia of the word was all wrong. Careless, maybe. She walked around like that all the time. Unconcerned. She was an accident waiting to happen. An innocent. He had to find a way to protect her. He felt weak. Shame washed through him unexpectedly, shrivelling him. He erased that wretched feeling, replaced it with rage. It was for her own good. He’d protect her from herself. She’d love him for it.       The liquor ran burning down the back of his throat and the cigarette smoke singed another layer on the surface of his already blackened lungs. He tried to conceal the openness of his face behind a scowl. Looking over at him through the haze of green light above the pool table, Julie felt a rush of tenderness toward him and suddenly wanted to press her lips to his, his intake of breath at the small ache caused by her touch. She didn’t realize her own state of mind, the repercussions of so many emotions, his killing joy.       He stopped looking at her. He didn’t seem to feel the weight of her eyes, her curiosity, on him. With a wave of his hand he ordered another drink. He was drinking quickly, studiously, getting drunk, as he must have done often in other bars, distrustful of the waitress, dismayed by the proportions of the small shot glass.       Across the room in the shadows was a woman Julie thought she recognized. She walked over to Luc and pointed the woman out to him. Do you know her? Isn’t that the woman you were with in Niagara Falls? she asked.       No. I don’t think it’s her. I hardly knew her. The look on his face betrayed him.       He took Julie in his arms and they smiled at one another, compatriots in the civil disorder of their love.       He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. Why won’t you kiss me?       She shrugged and still smiled.       They held each other, a little anxious, waiting for the answer to the question, as if it might waft in on the night breeze. The noise of the party went on without them. That small refusal, insignificant really, was sent out of their minds. With no place to go, it burrowed into the unconscious.       Love you, he thought. It was too difficult a feeling and caught him unprepared. It swept through him with the speed of a natural disaster. He looked at her as shyly as a girl. He reached out and tickled her arm, trying to be funny. His awkward gesture was another mistake. She gave her attention to the vibrations left on her skin in the place where he had put his hand, caressing her with the same lightness and painful intensity as he had that day on the Island.       Alex pulled the folds of her skirt around her like the curtains at a peepshow that are meant to expose rather than conceal. She was hounded by every need and desire she had ever experienced in her panoramic imagination. She saw Luc whispering to his girlfriend. At first she didn’t know who to accuse or what to accuse them of. That feeling was replaced by one of satisfaction in which she thought she heard her name spoken gently, the ahh of the rounded mouth followed by the tip of the tongue, moist, visible, so slightly meeting the edge of the teeth.       She swept up behind them and wrapped one arm around each of their curved necks. She kissed first Julie and then Luc.       All right, cut it out, my little love bugs, she said. She leaned her cheek against Luc’s, interrupting his thoughts. I’m going outside for minute. Come with me.       Luc leaned toward Julie. I’m just going outside with Alex, he said.       Julie smiled at him. Her unconcerned smile. He had such beautiful eyes. It was so sweet that he didn’t know how transparent he was. Alex and Luc left the bar.       The memory of the heat wave was behind them. They had, each and every one, lived through that catastrophe. It was a soft, gentle summer night. There was the scent of fragrant smoke at one juncture and the delicious perfume of a girl at another. Chandra rushed down the stairs, breathless, charged with a need to make up for lost time. The men were made lovesick at the sight of her cleavage.       She walked up to Julie, skidded to a stop, looked at her shyly, a small pleading sweep of her lashes.       Hey, she said.       Hey you, said Julie.       Oh my God, said Chandra. She laughed. She slipped her arm through Julie’s. She leaned on her in a half embrace.       Oh, I see, said Julie. So, have you been having a few little drinkies?       Oh, what does it matter. I’m happy. The shock of leaving the smoky underground bar with its disco light and climbing the steep stairs up into the mild night entered into Alex and established itself there with a delicious glee. The stillness was all around her, in the centre of which was her beating heart. Luc leaned toward her and lit her cigarette with his silver lighter. He was relaxed. He was good at this. He looked over at her, her tiny smile, yes, he was very good at this. Eddie looked at Chandra with a dumbfounded expression. He moved through his group of friends as determined as a hero. He reached her table at last after his struggle and sat down beside her. He didn’t look at her directly, but stared across the room at the other wall. Julie saw him do it. A shiver of alarm accompanied the sight of that betrayal. The evidence was all there in Eddie’s shirt, stretching across his chest, suggesting the muscles underneath, the virility of the turned-up collar. Julie had never seen Eddie look like that. She hadn’t guessed it was in him.       There was a roar of laughter at the next table. Neither Chandra or Eddie noticed, both sitting still and quiet. That stillness gave rise to a voluptuousness that enveloped them. He caressed her hair, casually and incongruously, like some wrestler reaching down to pet a cat that had wandered up to him on the street. Then he withdrew his hand again, self-consciously. Chandra did not respond other than to slightly relax her shoulders. They resumed their previous posture, statues guarding the entrance to the tomb.       Eddie’s desire to press up against her, to hug her, to kiss her, erased his fear. He turned to face her.       Hey, get over here, he said. He sounded a little mean and impatient to himself, and it embarrassed him. Hey, get over here, he said again, more gently.       He smiled in a way that he hoped would encourage her tenderness toward him, which would provoke her natural kindness. He worried that he could spoil his chances with her. He didn’t really know her. He didn’t know what generosity was. He stood up. Chandra also stood and followed him. He wandered across the room to a dark wall beside the bar that was less busy, and more quiet, where they could talk. Luc and Alex came back in, dishevelled from the freedom of the open sky. They failed to see the look on Julie’s face. They were still in a state where they couldn’t see anything outside of each other. That lasted for a few more minutes before their isolation was gradually eroded by the noise around them.       A light suddenly penetrated the dark bar, the haze of cigarette smoke that floated across it. The light fell on Eddie and Chandra where they stood close together against the wall. Chandra turned her head slightly, a small soft creature. Then the light was shut off. Their image became invisible again, was returned to the dark. Only its trace remained.       Alex, too, was staring at the sight that had emerged from the shadow. She swept over to the wall where the apparition had been. Not looking at Eddie, she reached out and pinched the back of Chandra’s arm. Chandra gasped. Alex led her into the women’s washroom.       Eddie didn’t move. He waited. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and put his hands in his pockets and then took them out again.       Luc walked over to the bar and stood behind Julie. He said nothing. He put his hand on her hip and she brushed it off.       Not a word was heard coming from the washroom.       Anybody feel like getting something to eat? said Luc.       For Chrissake, said Julie. Cocooned in the ladies’ room, its one green-painted stall and the pink soap drips from the dispenser hardened into mints on the counter, Chandra waited. She watched Alex, who was touching up her kohl eyeliner as if she were alone. Chandra leaned into her, pressing herself intimately against her. Alex gave her a nudge to push her away.       There is no worse crime, Alex said, after a moment. There is no worse crime that you could commit against me. Her breast rose and fell with each breath.       Um, Eddie said you guys are breaking up, said Chandra.       Alex powdered her nose. That simple gesture, the expression on her face, the rigidity of her movements, made Chandra afraid. She looked around the room for some protection.       I could never, like, you know, be with him, if you weren’t … Ask Julie if you don’t believe me.       Do you know what Julie thinks of you?       What do you mean? She’s my best friend.       Is she?       Alex lifted the hem of her dress and pulled open the door, flooding the washroom with disco music as she stepped out.       Chandra was left alone, shaking. She reached over and tried to force the dripping faucet closed. It didn’t stop leaking.       Goddamn it. Goddamn it, stop. She jammed her hand against the tap, hurting herself. Julie sat on the sofa, her legs curled under her, listening to the drip of the coffeemaker. From where she was sitting, she could look out the window at the morning light on the leaves of the maple or across the apartment to the bed where Luc was sleeping. She enjoyed the dead stillness.       Luc woke and sat up with a start from a bad dream, with beads of sweat rolling like mercury across his chest and under his arms. He looked across the room to where Julie was sipping a cup of coffee. What a relief. He dropped his head back onto the pillow. What was it, he wondered for a minute, and then remembered. Well, it wasn’t that bad. It was no big deal. It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing, anyway, he thought. And anyway, it was all her fault. If she’d kissed me when I asked her to, none of this would have happened.       Julie walked into the bedroom. Did you have a nice time with Alex last night?       I’ve got a miserable headache. Can you get me some aspirins?       He was preoccupied with thinking up excuses. He failed to notice that she let it drop. He was busy thinking about himself, what he could get into, what he could get out of. He missed seeing her elegant gesture. The two of them looked up at Julie in unison after the struggle to break their gaze from one another. The woman broke free first. Luc looked up at Julie next. His guilty expression was replaced immediately by one of defiance, and that was followed by innocence, which was followed in turn by a look of vague misery.       I just ran into her by coincidence, he said. He didn’t know what to do. He said, This is Leah. Leah, Julie.       Julie’s mouth closed hard. She had believed in the apple blossoms, their delicate petals, the days made joyous by their fragrance. In light of the scene in front of her, the couple seated with their heads bent toward each other, she questioned that dream.       She leaned against the bar beside their table where the bartender was setting out little bowls of pretzels and peanuts. She reached out unconsciously and took a few nuts.       The waiter walked up to the couple carrying two plates of food and put them down, bowing his head in a ceremonious gesture. Enjoy your dinner, he said.       Under Julie’s surveillance, the two of them looked down at their plates as though their dinner wasn’t food any more but an incrimination. Neither spoke.       Julie kept eating the peanuts from the bar. She was confused by her own reactions. She felt both buoyant with anger and gravely serious. She swallowed the peanuts. Along with them she tried to swallow her fury. It was difficult, but it allowed her to stand by with the appearance of calm. The situation was tenuous, its fragility as crystalline as the veins on a thin sheet of ice in the morning after winter appears overnight.       The room went darker and a little quieter.       Luc continued to look down at his plate. He squirmed like a child.       Julie was disgusted now by the salty peanuts. She kept eating them compulsively. Once she had begun, she did not know how to stop.       Luc shrugged. He reminded himself that he was a man. He clenched the muscles of his thighs. He lifted his hand from where it had been at rest on the table. He reached out and picked up his fork.       His gesture released Julie from her torpor. She leaned forward and, as maternally as a robin feeding her young, spit the peanuts across Luc’s dinner.       They sat stunned for a moment.       Then Leah jumped up from the table. She grabbed Julie by the arm. What the hell do you think you are doing? Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of here, she yelled.       Luc stood up quietly and with gentle violence shoved Leah in the chest, pushing her back, forcing her to let go of Julie. She turned on Luc and hit him ineffectually on the arm once, a second time, and then once more for good measure. When she got tired of hitting him to no effect and neither he nor Julie had moved, had instead just stood there staring at her wearily, she stopped. The tears spilled from her eyes.       What are you, some kind of a freak? She picked up her things. Without looking back at them, she fled into the darkening day.       Luc sat down with his shoulders slumped in front of that death wish. He contemplated his situation. He waited.       You bastard. You bastard, she said softly.       He didn’t answer her. He thought over his options. He’d let her get that off her chest before he made a decision.       You bastard, she said again, and then was silent.       Luc stood up and took her by the arm. She yanked her arm out of his grasp. He grabbed her again, gently. Again she pulled away. She walked outside. He followed her.       Get away from me, she said. She tried to push him in the chest but he stepped back out of her reach.       She walked away from him. He followed her. She turned and yelled at him to leave her alone. He stopped, watched her, waited, and a moment after she moved on, he followed her again. She began to run. He walked faster, never allowing too much distance between them.       She turned. Get away from me, she yelled at him. From somewhere, a dog barked.       When she reached the apartment, she slammed the door in his face.       He waited a moment and then used his key to let himself in. When he walked in, she was in the other room, just sitting on the bed.       He said, What the hell’s the matter with you? I can’t even have dinner with an old friend?       You bastard, she said.       He tried another strategy. He attempted to offer up his mistake to her in a hundred ways. With a word. With that other word, more and more left unsaid. Trying to find a route to her forgiveness. Never guessing that it would have to come from her voluntarily. Nothing he could do or say would influence her.       Leave it. Leave it alone, she said.       In the end he got tired of playing up to her. He wasn’t getting anywhere. He went to bed. His sleep alleviated the problems of the day. In the morning he would awaken to the future and his own renewed innocence.       Julie lost hope. She lost the razor blade of bliss taped inside the cover of her diary, where she was so candid she invaded her own privacy. She cried at the impotence of the sweet delta, at its terrifying vernacular that had been silenced in every arena. She wept at the loss of her honey-glazed wishes.       He had begged her, Save me, save me. And she had begged him for nothing.