The man next to me leaned over and whispered, “They’re parasites, primordial. Their mouths jawless, full of teeth. But”—he picked his last chunk up with his fork and my full stomach lurched—“hardly any bones.”

The woman who’d claimed to have heard of my imaginary book started discussing her own work—an installation project that required a group of women to walk around speaking one-word sentences to one another while holding mirrors directly in front of their faces.

“And what do their bodies look like?” Gigi said. “I feel it is an important question.”

“Ah,” the woman said, pausing. “I am using the white young naked female body.”

Gigi nodded seriously, though in her lap Aldous giggled at the word “naked.”

The trout arrived after the lamprey, served whole with tiny potatoes and a tomato salad. Though I felt sick, I looked the waiter, a young man, probably my age, in the eye, thanked him loudly, exaggeratedly, but no one took any notice. At the other end of the table, he leaned over and said something quietly to Lonnie.

“Oh,” I heard her reply. “It doesn’t matter, the baby and I will share.”

I’d never eaten a whole fish before and had no idea what to do with it. The sight of its gooey cooked eyes disgusted me. The other guests grinned and giggled, complimenting Tibby on her selection.

At the end of the table, William wrinkled up his face at the fish, reached out as if to poke it, and then quickly drew back his hand, scared. Lonnie fed him potato. I didn’t know if I was supposed to cut off the skin or eat it all even if it turned my stomach. I used my knife to snap off the head, as I’d seen the other guests do. William suddenly started crying, a sharp, piercing wail. Lonnie scooped him up and walked outside.

I tried to catch glimpses of Lonnie and William on the porch as I dissected the body of the trout. I didn’t do a very good job. My plate was soon covered with scales, and I kept catching bones in my mouth. I crunched them between my teeth.

“In the film a man is playing a card game—it’s not exactly solitaire, though he is playing it alone.” The man sitting next to me was speaking now. “But he’s in a swimming pool, trying to play on the surface of the moving water. The cards are obviously floating away.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, though I related to the man in the film, as I suffered down more and more fish.

“And you,” the man turned to me, “your book. It has been receiving wonderful reviews?”