So old Derek had split, to tilt with skyscrapers. Ho ho. Ha ha. I hoped fervently that he’d fall on his histrionic ass, the gaudy fucking vagabond, and be reduced to working in a deli, where he’d cut off his thumb in the pastrami slicer and bleed to death. Even without that vivid eventuality, he was still two hundred miles away; here was my opportunity ho ho (would she ever be more vulnerable?) to make her wish he’d never come back, or not give a diddly damn if ever he did. We’ll begin, shall we, with the disarming bond of friendship, the epicene sedative which would give way imperceptibly to stronger medicine, a steamy philter to enflame her with a passion as ardent as mine.

“I appreciate your entrusting me with your confidence…”

“I’m not entrusting,” she said querulously, “I’m just pissed off.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“How do I know? That’s hours away.”

“Want to go to the Captain’s Ball on B Deck?”

She didn’t appreciate my drollery. If I could scrape together a load of books from the attic, hitchhike to the Pikesville Sally, and pick up enough tease for a movie… Or hock my tuba, or borrow a few bills from Grady. He’d comply; all I had to do was hint that I’d sic my little flame-thrower on him.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Too tired to go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe some other…”

“What are you sorry about? I like being tired. Next to absolute, pure boredom, it’s the most satisfying feeling.”

“Well, if you mean satiety…”

“I meant like exhaustion, what I said. Christ,” she added, “this conversation is getting just too damned strenuous. I’m warning you,” her eyes narrowed, “this kind of heavy talk is a threat to our relationship.”

“What relationship? I wish we had one—just a waif of a relationship for starters.”

“Jesus, you talk a lot. You know,” she added like a placid sage, “what I think it is, why don’t you find somebody to go to bed with?”

What is more maddening than the girl you adore trying to interest you in someone, anyone, else? I wanted to kick her insolent ass, belt her across that scarlet mouth, I wanted to…

I kissed her. She saw it coming and ducked. My lips sought the moving target, flayed air, brushed the cunning lobe of an ear. Bungled though it was, still it made for a certain intimacy.

What to do now? Once at long last having taken the initiative, retreat was unthinkable. I asked myself that desperate question of last resort: What did I have to lose? And the destitute answer was Nothing.

“Confidentially,” she was saying in a mild and reasonable voice, “you really are an asshole.”

Again I lunged.

“Stop it!” she ordered.

“What’s the matter?” I said with an inspired smirk. “You afraid of not being bored for a change?”