It is, yes, of course, complicated. I love Mr. U. Is this not a betrayal of his trust? It is, I know it is. I do not wish to disturb the happiness of our family. I have known these dear people all my life.

And yet.

Mrs. U., also a member of the family, desires, even needs, these evenings with me.

And I (another member of the family) also desire and need them, truth be told.

The world in which I have received a biting kiss from the beautiful Mrs. U. is a better world than the one in which I have not. I refuse—or, rather, decline—to act in such a way as to preclude further such biting kisses, to preclude the possibility that, some night not long from now, she may, moved by further risks I intend to take in my Speaking, allow me to (sweet thought) touch her, with my hands (should my operative Pose, at that time, leave my hands unPinioned), and even to kiss other parts of her, or the possibility that she may (Good God) do certain bold things to me, with her hands, with her mouth, things that I know about, although, to be honest, I am not entirely sure how I know about them.

What is right, what is wrong? In this situation?

What a small question!

What is great? That is what my heart longs to ask. What is lush? What is bold, what is daring? In which direction lies maximum richness, abundance, delight?

This is all new to me, this wanting of something. I want further congress with her more than I want what I have previously always wanted most: i.e., to be so good at what I do that none may find fault with me and everyone is super pleased with me and agrees that I have no real competition in my field.

Might I still accomplish this goal while pursuing and winning the affections of Mrs. U.?

I believe so.

I hope so.

Theirs is, I know from close observation (it pains me to say this), a dead marriage. I, by being the new life that will begin coursing through Mrs. U., will, in a sense, save them both. Mr. U., seeing our fresh new love, will, so to speak, yield the field, and find renewed and focused pleasure in his work at Podium, discreetly leaving the nights to us. And, in time, he will come to love someone new, perhaps aided by Mrs. U. Perhaps it will be her friend Hazel, who sometimes drops by, or her other friend Sandra, who, in my eyes, is prettier and happier than Hazel, who, stepping into Listening Room, only tends to wince and step back out, who knows why.

So let it be Sandra.

I make a mental note to broach this topic with Mrs. U. during our next evening together.

We Rehearse for the next two days.

Then it is the day of the night of Performance.