While she was out, the phone rang.

George picked it up. “This is Maria’s phone.”

A man’s voice said: “May I speak with Maria, please?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but George could not place it. “She stepped out,” he said. “Who is—wait a minute, she just walked in.”

Maria snatched the phone from him. “Hello? Oh, hi . . . He’s a friend, he brought me some aspirins . . . Oh, not too bad, I’ll get by . . .”

George said: “I’ll step outside, give you some privacy.”

He strongly disapproved of Maria’s lover. Even if the jerk was married he should have been here. He had made her pregnant, so he should have taken care of her after the abortion.

That voice . . . George had heard it before. Had he actually met Maria’s lover? It would not be surprising, if the man was a work colleague, as George’s mother surmised. But the voice on the phone was not Pierre Salinger’s.

The girl who had let him in now walked by, on her way out again. She grinned at him standing outside the door like a naughty boy. “Have you been misbehaving in class?” she said.

“No such luck,” said George.

She laughed and walked on.

Maria opened the door and he went back inside. “I really have to get back to work,” he said.

“I know. You came to visit me in the middle of the Cuba crisis. I’ll never forget that.” She was visibly happier now that she had talked to her man.

Suddenly George had a flash of realization. “That voice!” he said. “On the phone.”

“You recognized it?”

He was astonished. “Are you having an affair with Dave Powers?”

To George’s consternation, Maria laughed out loud. “Please!” she said.

He saw right away how unlikely it was. Dave, the president’s personal assistant, was a homely-looking man of about fifty who still wore a hat. He was not likely to win the heart of a beautiful and lively young woman.

A moment later, George realized who Maria was having an affair with.

“Oh, my God,” he said, staring. He was astonished at what he had just figured out.

Maria said nothing.

“You’re sleeping with President Kennedy,” George said in amazement.

“Please don’t tell!” she begged. “If you do, he’ll leave me. Promise, please!”

“I promise,” said George.

• • •

For the first time in his adult life, Dimka had done something truly, indisputably, shamefully wrong.

He was not married to Nina, but she expected him to be faithful, and he assumed she was faithful to him; so there was no question that he had betrayed her trust by spending the night with Natalya.

He had thought it might be the last night of his life but, since it had not been, the excuse seemed feeble.

He had not had sexual intercourse with Natalya, but that, too, was a lousy excuse. What they had done was, if anything, even more intimate and loving than regular sex. He felt wretchedly guilty. Never before had he seen himself as untrustworthy, dishonest, and unreliable.