And so Sarah spent an evening with Donald Uffizi. What were her impressions? She remembered colored glass. Green. She adored green eyes. She wished that she had green eyes.
He was attentive, but she didn't say a word about Max. Not a word. That pig never once crossed her mind. He had cast Max out somehow. It must have been the laughter they shared, which was never derisive and neither saccharine nor sour. It was like bells, their laughs harmonized. How did he avoid it, the bitterness? How could he possibly, even for that one evening? There is so much that a little always squeaks through. She liked his hair, brown except dipped in some red, longish, fingers could pass through it, happy fingernails.
She bothered to put on a nightgown this evening, even though she was alone. She didn't feel alone. And she thought that really she is only as alone as she feels, so she wasn't alone after all.
Dahlia spent the evening silently serving her Lord. Mr. Kranitz' objections faded in the face of her indifference. All the pain had left her. But it would return.
So ended Monday, June 7, 1999.