The walk was a silent one. When we got to his suite, I headed for the bathroom and washed off all the makeup. I was pale and thin and had two black eyes. I looked like a Keane painting from the sixties. He helped me take off my dress—my cast got in the way of everything—and I slipped on my nightgown and went under the covers. It was a little before one in the morning.

Chris hung up his clothing, took out his sweats, and then plopped down beside me. “I’m horny.”

“As long as you don’t get mad if I fall asleep.” I waited for him to get on top.

“I’m feeling pumped. Turn around.”

“Nothing funny, Chris. I don’t want that.”

“No ass, I promise,” he said. “Turn around.”

“Please don’t be rough.”

“Just let me know, angel,” he said. “I’m listening.”

He pulled back the covers and lifted up my nightgown. When he was done, he kissed my lips gently. “You do know that I love you.”

I touched his face. “You’re one of a kind. Thank you for everything, Donatti. I don’t know how I would have survived those early years without you. Like I told Badger, I knew what I was getting into. I made a conscious decision to come back.”

“You were penniless with a kid, living in a cold-water flat in Chicago. I threatened to take Gabe away from you. I forced your hand. You had no choice but to do whatever I wanted.”

I touched his face and brushed his golden-white hair from his cheek. Somewhere inside, there was an eighteen-year-old boy whom once I would have died for. “You always have a choice,” I told him. “And I chose Donatti.” I closed my eyes. “I’m really tired.”

“Go to sleep, baby. I won’t bother you.” He got up to go to work.

When he was at the door, I said, “Chris?”

He turned around. “What, angel?”

“Why did you invite Gabe to a party here?”

“Not to corrupt him. He’s incorruptible.”

“I know that. Why’d you ask him to come to a party with all these yucky people?”

He came back and sat on the bed. “Lots of these men … they envy me. I’m rich, I’m good-looking, I can have any woman—any person—I want, I have an enviable life. But lots of them, like Mike, they may envy me, but they also look down on me. To them, I’m nothing but a procurer of whores. And I recognize that’s what I am. Fine. I’ll accept it. But a lot of these guys … they also have shitty kids—drug-addicted washouts. Probably because they’re shitty fathers. I was a shitty father. But my son had a great mother.”

“Do you mean Rina or me?”