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I know what he's asking, and the Faith and Bonnie in me is glad to hear it. But I say, "Only if it's a choice between the suburbs and setting myself on fire."

Outside, he suggests we go somewhere to get a drink or hear music.

"No, thank you," I say. I tell him that I have to walk my bicycle, and if I start now I'll just make it home before sunrise.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

I shake my head. I'm about to say that my lips are spoken for, but with a pang I realize that they are not. I say, "You can unlock me," and I hand him the key.

He unlocks my bicycle, and says, "We'll put it in a cab."

He hails one, and manages to get my bicycle into the trunk.

I get in the cab and thank him for dinner. He nods. "My pleasure."

I say, "You have a nice personality." Then I give the driver my address.

—•—

No messages on the machine. I take Jezebel out and walk her to Robert's building. I look up at the windows and try to guess which are his.

"Go home, pumpkin," Bonnie says.

I sit on the stoop. Jezebel maneuvers herself so she can lie beside me, and puts her head on my lap.

To the tune of "Why can't a woman be more like a man?" I whisper, "Why can't a man be more like a poodle?"

"You've had too much to drink," Faith says. "If you want to, you can call him in the morning."

I say, "You're just saying that so I'll go home."

—•—

In the morning, there's still no answer at Robert's.

In the afternoon, when the phone rings I run for it. "Princess?" Mac says. He tells me he had a great time.

"Same here," I say.

After we hang up, Bonnie pats my knee. "Isn't it nice just to hear the phone ring?"

—•—

I picture Robert in the country with Apollinaire and her girlfriend. "Robert, please," she's saying. "The woman's in advertising for Christ's sake."

Maybe they've invited a date for Robert, a straight, statuesque Oscar nominee.

"You're losing it!" Bonnie says. "You're the one who had the date!"

In the evening, I call Robert again, and this time he picks up the phone.

I say, "Aren't you supposed to be stalking me?"

"I went away," he says, and his voice is flat.

I ask if he'll meet me at the outdoor café between our apartments, and he agrees.

After we hang up, I go to the mirror, and Bonnie hands me my lipstick. Faith sits on the ledge of the tub and reaches for an emery board. She files her nails, stops and looks up at me. "This is the deciding moment in the hunt," she says.

"The hunt!" I say. "This is New York—nobody hunts!"

"You don't have to get snappy," Bonnie says. "It's just an analogy."

"No more hunting or fishing," I say.

Faith says, "Just being yourself, is that it?"

"No!" Bonnie says, frowning so hard her dimples show.

"Yes," I say.

"You're going to lose him, Jane," Faith says.

"I won't."

"Yes," Faith says. "You will."

"Okay, but I'll lose him my way," I say.

"That's the spirit," Faith says.

I close my eyes. "I want you to go now."

Faith says, "We're already gone," and when I open my eyes they are. The bathroom is suddenly empty and quiet. I am on my own.

—•—

At the café Robert is sitting outside, looking at the menu.

He half rises and kisses my cheek, as though we've already broken up and are starting a friendship, which throws me.

"How are you?" I say.

"Fine," he says. "You?"

I nod.

We both order red wine. I say, "Where'd you go?"

He doesn't answer right away. "I went to New Jersey. To my parents' house," he says, sounding like he wishes he could say any place else.

"How was it?" I say.

"The usual," he says. "I watered the lawn, argued with my father, regressed, and aged."

I smile, which he doesn't seem to see.

Our wine comes, and he takes a sip and then another.

"Your mouth's purple," I say.

"Listen," he says. "This isn't going to work out."

"No?" I say.

He shakes his head and looks down at Jezebel, who lifts her head to be scratched, and he reaches down.

"Don't pet my dog," I say. "If we're breaking up, you can't touch either of us."

"We can't break up," he says. "You're going out with other people."

"Other person,"