Bill untangled himself. “It was okay. Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, Jeff? I know him from school. We’re going to go see Cat People.” He took the glass of J&B from Bill, sipped it and made a face. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff. It’s tastes like turpentine. Not,” he added, smiling, “that I’ve ever drunk turpentine, but if I had, I’m pretty sure it would taste like this.”

“Is Jeff gay?” Bill asked, attempting and failing to keep the question light.

“All my school friends are either gay or girls. What are we going to do about dinner? Or should I get a bite with Jeff?”

“Do whatever you want,” Bill said and went into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and pretended to look through the cartons of takeout.

He heard Nick’s footsteps and then felt his hands tentatively touch his shoulders. “Um, is everything all right, Billy?”

Bill shrugged off his lover’s hands. “Yeah, I’m looking for something to eat. One of us needs to learn to cook. Takeout for two every night is expensive.”

He regretted the words even as if they left his mouth because just that morning Nick had again expressed his discomfort about Bill’s habit of paying for everything. “I should get a job,” he had said, “and I could help out with the food and bills.” Bill has assured him it wasn’t necessary. “You concentrate on school,” he had told him. “I can support us.”

He heard Nick slip out of the room. A moment later, he followed him into the living room, where he again found him on the phone.

“Hey, Jeff? I can’t make it after all,” he was saying. “No, I forgot, I had plans with Bill. Sorry! This weekend? I’ll have to let you know.”

He put the receiver down and looked at Bill.

“You didn’t have to cancel your plans,” Bill said, lamely.

“You didn’t want me to go.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Nick snapped. “That stuff about money, you want to make me feel bad.”

“Nick, no, I—”

“Am I supposed to ask your permission to go out with my friends?” Nick demanded.

Bill hesitated. “No,” he said, but it was a beat too late to be convincing.

Nick’s expression was angry but also confused as if he wasn’t sure he didn’t have to ask Bill’s permission to go out.

“I’m going downstairs to visit Mrs. D.,” he said, adding caustically, “or do I need your permission to do that too?”

“Nick, listen—” Bill took a step toward him, but Nick was on his feet and running down the steps before Bill reached him. He slammed the front door behind him.

Bill picked up his glass, drained his drink, and muttered, “Fuck.”