“I am, but I was late at the gallery and I go to the Fickle Fox and Roland said you were in for dinner with—with him.”

It didn’t immediately dawn on me what I was witnessing, even when Hildegard began glowering in my direction. Something about her stare was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“And now, Glenna,” Hildegard said, “I feel you take me for the idiot.”

“Hildi, I told you this morning; I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You tell me? Now I tell you: if you take me for the idiot, you are barking at the wrong tree.”

Hildegard drew a pack of Marlboros from her jacket, put a cigarette in her mouth, and lit it with a black Bic lighter. I thought about bumming a smoke from her. Christ, it was even my brand.

“I’m Gordon,” I said, standing.

Judging from her scowl, I could forget about the cigarette. But I figured out why her stare was so familiar. It reminded me of Glenna’s mother. Her eyes contained the same disappointment and sullenness, the same barely concealed outrage.

“I know who you are very well,” exhaled Hildegard. “The question I hope to know is, does my Glenna know who she is?”

“Can’t we discuss it later?” Glenna said.

“Ach!” Hildegard exclaimed through the tobacco haze. “First, my Glenna is swinging one direction, and next she is swinging another, and she will not discuss her swinging.”

I began to feel sick.

“Hildi!” Glenna said.

“I must know what is it you want. Me or this man.”

“I’ll go by Monday,” Glenna said coldly. “You go now.”

“I will leave, but you will leave, too. You will not only leave my apartment, you will leave my gallery and my life.”

Hildegard left without closing the door. Glenna slammed it for her.

Part of me couldn’t believe what I’d witnessed. I needed to see their bedroom, needed to know if I had been so love blind that I hadn’t even conceived of the possibility that it was men—and not just me—that Glenna had lost interest in. I moved down the hall and heard her trailing behind me. There was a queen-size brass bed with a burnt-umber coverlet, a brass lamp, and an oak wardrobe, vanity, and stereo cabinet.

“Was Hildegard the first?” I asked, despising myself for caring about her answer.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Was she?”

“Why do you—”

“Goddamnit! Was she?”

Quietly Glenna said, “First. And only.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did. At dinner. You asked me if I was in love. I said no. And I’m not.”

Glenna’s eyes were narrowed in concentration, as if she was trying to reach a decision.

I said, “You could’ve been honest with me.”

“Don’t you dare mention honesty to me!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare!”

“What are you talk—”

“I’m talking about you—you garbage dick—and Robin.”

I had always thought that if my screwing Robin had come up, I would be contrite. I wasn’t; I was enraged. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Glenna? Isn’t that why you sent me to Woodstock with her? So I’d fuck her and you could dump me?”