Now he was showing his true colors, knocking down her work before she’d even explained it. “This is something that hasn’t been done before. An entire series on lost or forgotten American artists—writers, performers, painters.”

“Ah. The forgotten genius angle,” he said. “That’s always popular.”

“The forgotten geniuses have all been remembered. People are sick of them. This is much more interesting and much more commercial. The whole culture is drifting away from geniuses and exceptional people who only make the rest of us feel inadequate. My series is about the true cultural influences: forgotten mediocrities.”

Dale looked puzzled. He paused for a moment and said, “Who, for example?”

“Have you ever heard of a writer named Lewis Westerly? He wrote brilliantly so-so novels.”

“The name sounds familiar.”

Oh good, Jane thought, he’s lying. She had him. She motioned for the waitress and ordered them another round of drinks. Jane was wearing a linen jacket, a boxy sand-colored thing that she’d never really liked but had thrown over her silk blouse this morning because she knew it would make her feel less exposed to her ex-husband’s scrutiny. Now that he seemed so impressed with her project, she didn’t care what he thought of her figure, which, after all, wasn’t that much different from what it had been fifteen years ago when Dale had been so enthusiastic about it. Unlike the vast majority of heterosexual men she’d met, Dale actually liked women, and so wasn’t repulsed by female fleshiness. Anyway, people generally take your lead in reacting to your appearance. Two thirds of Dale’s attractiveness had to do with his narcissistic appreciation of himself. She slipped off the jacket, rested the back of her head against the banquette, and began free-associating, creating a brilliant plan right there while the silly, pretty fishes swam in circles in the goblets at the tables all around them.

2.

By the time both were on a third drink, the bar was more crowded, mostly with pompous, well-scrubbed young men with pink skin, no matter their race, and the boisterous good cheer that indicated a serious lack of life experience. Recent college grads working at Fidelity or Bank of Boston, so low down the corporate ladder they were still chummy with each other. Poor things, thinking that careers were ruled by logic and love was ruled by the heart. Thank God optimism like that dried up with age.