“I am fine, Mr. Larwin, and that will be all. Thank you.” I hung up.

A week later, right on schedule, Bernie returned. Rita and I hid from sight and watched him come and go, just to be sure. I was worried that my generosity might somehow pique Bernie’s curiosity, or encourage him to enter the city as before, even against the instructions. However, he showed zero interest in his surroundings, not even a head swing around when he first emerged from his car. As far as I could tell, he resumed his duties as if he’d never left them. I was relieved.

Soon it was New Year’s Eve. By that time Rita had repaired most of the electronics we used, though some, like the portable radio and the TV in 201, were fried beyond repair. Luckily I had extra DVD players that still worked. Imagine my pleasure when I discovered this—it prompted a six-hour binge of us sitting and eating ourselves fat on the couch. I didn’t even bother going to 205; with Rita’s help I dragged the newer TV from 205 to 201, and we watched it there, the old TV pushed aside for the occasion. Somehow Rita’s presence had a way of relaxing my rules.

New Year’s Eve fell on a Tuesday evening, and all that day I had been dyeing and trimming myself into Mr. Roper, and I donned the ugly cardigans and polyester pants he wore. When I finally emerged from the bathroom of 201, Rita, still wearing her usual clothes, jumped off the couch. “Oh, Stanley!” she said.

I gave a Stanley snort, though inside I was utterly delighted. “I think it’s time to change locations, what do you think?” I asked her. “I have something for you.”

After turning off everything in the apartment and locking the door behind me, I led the way downstairs, to the front door of Apartment 101. The air outside was bitter cold and felt like snow, the clouds a thick, gray mask above us. The silence was absolute. Our breath smoked as I unlocked the door.

We went in and turned on the lights. Rita found a record player in the living room and put on an album of romantic standards while I checked the kitchen to make sure everything was in order. It was.

“Now,” I said, returning to her. I crooked my finger and beckoned her down the short hallway. In the cloyingly pink bedroom I opened the wardrobe and showed her Mrs. Roper’s muumuus. I laid a pink one out on the bed, the same one Mrs. Roper had worn in the pilot of the series. Beside it lay the red, curly-haired wig and heavy costume jewelry, a ring for every finger and two necklaces. “What do you think?” I said. My stomach was knotted up. This would be the test.

She smiled. She smiled!

She scooped up everything and went into the bathroom.

I waited on the bed and then, realizing the error, darted to the bench at the foot of the bed. Staid Stanley would not be caught dead on the bed. After a few minutes I felt restless and began pacing. Why didn’t I go out to the living room? I wondered. I could leave this room at any time.