The room was silent.

“Is there something wrong with them being in love?” Fire asked.

He was giving Lewis a chance to redeem himself. He didn’t want to think the worst.

“Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t waste my time falling in love with someone like that.”

“So you actually choose who you want to be in love with, just like so?” He snapped his fingers.

“Yes.”

“You’ve never just met somebody and you just felt a spontaneous … almost, well … like … a spark between the both of you?”

“When I was a kid, sure. But I can’t afford to do that now. That kinda love isn’t practical. I have too much at stake.”

Silence fell again. A more intense one.

Ian glared at Lewis. “You’re so fulla shit,” he said quietly. His eyes were bleary and his speech was slurred. He sneered, then smiled, then tried to go back to sneering again but lost his way, inadvertently creating the kind of warped-genius expression perfected on screen by John Malkovich. He tilted his head and drained the bottle at arm’s length, splashing his lips like a toilet seat. “So if Sylvia was an editorial assistant you wouldn’t deal with her?”

“Well … I’m not saying that, but … I mean … maybe I wouldn’t have met her … so I guess I wouldn’t … I don’t know.”

Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned across the table. “What you mean you don’t know?”

“Look, Ian,” snapped Lewis, “Sylvia and I have what we have, and it’s none of your business.”

“Why is it such a big deal to say that you’d be with your woman no matter what kinda work she did?”

“Why is it your concern?”

“Why you cyaah answer?”

“Why is it your concern?”

“But why you cyaah answer, Lewis?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Ian.”

Lewis was pointing at him now, and Ian began to laugh. He glanced at Fire for support. Fire looked at the floor to avoid embarrassing Lewis—but not before showing Ian the sparkle in his eyes. Claire, who had grown accustomed to this kind of catch-up, watched the whole thing in ironic amusement, expecting it to fade any minute. But it continued, gathering volume like a landslide.

Sylvia slammed the book on the table. The men continued to jabber. So she shouted, “Stop. It’s getting out of hand!”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “Sylvia, you’re such a bombo. You don’t see de man don’t love you? Is not you him love—is what you is. Dat don’t bother you?”

Fire kept his head low. He didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to compound the woman’s embarrassment.

“It’s none of your business, Ian. It’s not your business at all.”

“So hol on. You woulda be with him if he was a transit worker or a manager at a McDonald’s?”

“It’s none of your business. We have what we have and we’re happy.”

“Let’s go, Sylvia,” Lewis said. “I don’t need this shit. And I don’t want these candleholders, either.”