She ripped open the envelope to find an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a woman sitting on a red couch. She wore a pink bustier with black laces up the front, pushing large breasts skyward. Then came scanty black panties and a pair of high black patent leather boots. The picture had been folded and it was torn at the corner, as though someone had taken a bite out of it.

Allison turned it over, looking for an explanation, but there was nothing to explain this woman, whose hair was tousled about her head as though she’d been in a windstorm. She had a terrific figure, but her face was mannish, a little puffy, her hair a little too brightly hued to be natural. She wasn’t exactly young, though younger, certainly, than Allison herself. Her lips were painted a garish red, and they were open slightly, revealing the lurid tip of her pink tongue.

Allison turned the envelope upside down and shook it for more clues. A scrap of purple paper slid out. The note read: “TEDS GOT A GIRLFRIEND.”

Ted? Was this a joke? Who in the world had pushed this into their home? She opened the front door, but no one was out there.

She pressed back to downward dog again and tried to focus on her breath, but she couldn’t stop seeing the face of the woman in the photo. Was it someone at the university who was trying to blackmail Ted? Some malcontent whose story hadn’t run in the university magazine? She moved into plank, then all the way down to the mat, and slid up into cobra.

Maybe it wasn’t a joke at all. Maybe he had a girlfriend. If so, it served her right. And it would explain his lack of interest in sex. She pressed back to downward dog, then jumped to the front of the mat.

Ted walked in the room. “Hi there.”

“What the hell do you want?” Allison said.

He started. “I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing.”

“Who’s this?” she said, picking up the photo.

“Playmate of the Month?”

She studied his face. “You have no idea?”

“Should I?”

She showed him the note.

“They forgot the apostrophe.” He frowned at the photo, scrutinizing it.

“Enough already,” Allison said, snatching it away.

“It’s not very well done.”

“What?”

“Look at it. It’s completely fake.” They took it into the kitchen, where the light was better.

“What’s fake?” Jillian said from the dining room.

“Nothing,” Ted and Allison said in unison.

The face really didn’t match the rest of it. The face was crisp, the rest of the photo fuzzy, romantic boudoir photo–like.

“It’s a joke,” Ted said. “Photoshopped. And poorly, at that.”

“What?” Jillian said.

“Never mind,” Allison said.

The phone rang. Allison answered. It was Suzanne, apologizing for calling so late, apologizing, again, for moving out. “Let it go,” Allison said. “You sound terrible. Want company? I’ll come over. I’ll bring something that’ll make you laugh.”