“You see, when the king is unhappy, you give him a leg of mutton. If that doesn’t do it, you give him a couple of wenches. If he’s still pissed, you give him a couple of enemies to torture on the rack or in the iron maiden or with the emasculator—”

“The emasculator?”

“Yeah, the emasculator. Vets use it on large animals. Cuts the tendons on one side and clamps off the vessels on the other side. Gets the job done with very little bleeding.”

“That is disgusting!”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t invent it. It is a nifty product, however.”

I put my palms over my ears. “I don’t want to hear, okay?”

He took my hands from my head and said, “What I’m trying to say is it doesn’t take much to make the king happy. The queen is a different story. The king’s ministers come to the king. They say, ‘The queen is unhappy.’

“‘Okay,’ the king says, ‘bring in the royal florist.’

“The ministers say, ‘We tried that. It didn’t work.’

“‘Okay,’ the king says. ‘Try the royal jewelers.’

“‘Already went that route,’ the ministers say. ‘She doesn’t want a new tiara. She wants to talk.’

“‘No problem,’ says the king. ‘Bring in the royal companion.’

“‘That’s a no-go,’ say the ministers. ‘She doesn’t want to talk to the royal companion, she wants to talk to you.’ So …”

He exhaled.

“So … the king girds his loins, preparing himself for the onslaught, and goes to his queen.” A beat. “And then … after hearing a nonstop litany of complaints, a blow by blow of everything the king has done wrong since Jesus first walked the earth, replete with times and dates—on end and without pause—because woe be he who tries to defend himself only to be accused of interrupting her, talking over her, and bullying her. After he hears everything—a complete syllabus of Bad Husband 101—then maybe, just maybe, she’ll forgive him.” A pause. “And then she’ll accept the royal florist and the royal jewelers—”

“That is not fair.”

“It doesn’t sound a little familiar?”

“Yeah, the part about interrupting and talking over and bullying.”

He sat back and looked at the ceiling. “I’m sorry I hurt you, okay?”

“But you’re not sorry, because you’ll do it again whenever you’re in a mood.”

“That still doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.” He made a face. “Terry, what do you want from me? Not in a cosmic sense, I mean right now. And don’t tell me nothing. Help me out here.”

“You rape me. Then when I don’t immediately capitulate to your whims, you threaten to abandon my son to a pack of hyenas—”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Chris, I’m not in a forgiving mood, okay?”

“Will you forgive me after I go to India and bring back Sanjay?”