Gertler fed Juliana by hand, fork, spoon, a paper napkin neatly at her throat, pungent dark wine lifted in a glass for her to swallow, dared not not swallow, the front of her shirt would have been wetted. Juliana did not beg, did not cry, did not betray fear, did not betray outrage, allowed Gertler to bring marijuana cigarettes to her mouth, pretended to be inhaling, thinking—Daddy help me. Daddy, I’m sorry. In Juliana’s bound state she and Gertler watched films Gertler predicted she would love—“screwball comedies”—by Preston Sturges. Though paralyzed with fear, Juliana managed to laugh at young, slender comedienne Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve—a little spasm of laughter that seemed to convince Gertler that Juliana wasn’t unhappy with him, it wouldn’t be a mistake to let her go.

Eighteen hours, captive in the sparely furnished apartment in a seedy university residence. Eighteen hours, just a single glass of tart red wine in all that time. Why he’d decided to let her go, Juliana never knew, unless that had been his plan all along, a plan he’d executed previously with other undergraduate girls. Just joking, Gertler explained—“kidding around.” Laughing heartily, as in a screwball comedy, and Juliana was able to laugh too, probably yes it was just funny, most things were funny when you examined them closely. And this, a scene out of a film. (Wasn’t Gertler working on a film script of his own? Of course.) Juliana went away by herself, grateful to be alone, thinking that she’d liked Gertler well enough, wouldn’t report him to university officials, she wasn’t a snitch. He hadn’t actually harmed her, what the hell.

Now Juliana could speak knowledgeably of Jim Jarmusch, what she could recall of the films was dreamy, seductive, and then startling, unpredictable. Her favorite?—Only Lovers Left Alive.

5.

And again in the Mon ey Bar. Juliana’s final evening there.

Strange and unexpected: in the blurred spring of her senior year at the university she’d become engaged. It seemed to have happened in a dream. But not a neon dream, just an ordinary dream.

The fiancé was several years older than Juliana, graduating from the university’s business school with a master’s degree in corporate finance. Juliana had no idea what that entailed, and not much interest. Money in itself held no interest for her, except the Mon ey Bar intrigued her as red-flashing neon words.

Mon ey Bar. Juliana had no doubt, these words had entered her sleep.

Out of nowhere Gordon Kechel seemed to have come. Someone told Juliana he was the son of rich parents. Why he liked her, Juliana had no idea. Doris Day sunny smile? Ava Gardner sexy-sloe eyes? In his presence Juliana smiled often, no reason not to smile, she scarcely heard what Gordon was saying, but she found his sand-colored hair attractive, wavy, always combed, the serious eyebrows, tawny, intelligent boy-eyes.

Juliana knew she could trust Gordon. She could trust Gordon not to know her.