No wedding ring.

So what?

With Robin at my side, I would have taken brief notice.

Or so I tried to convince myself.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

She had her eyes on a man- one of the swans, old enough to be her father. Big square bronze face corrugated with deep seams. Narrow, pale eyes, brush-cut hair the color of iron filings. Well-built, despite his age, and perfectly turned out in double-breasted blue blazer and gray flannel slacks.

Oddly boyish- one of those youthful older men who populate the better clubs and resorts and are able to bed younger women without incurring snickers.

Her lover?

What business was that of mine?

I kept staring. Romance didn’t seem to be what was fueling her attention. The two of them were off in one corner and she was arguing with him, trying to convince him of something. Barely moving her lips and straining to look casual. He just stood there, listening.

Sharon at a party; it didn’t fit. She’d hated them as much as I had.

But that had been a long time ago. People change. Lord knew that applied to her.

I raised my glass to my lips, watched her tug on one earlobe- some things stayed the same.

I edged closer, bumped into a matron’s padded haunch and received a glare. Mumbling apologies, I pressed forward. The crush of drinkers was unyielding. I wedged my way through, seeking a voyeur’s vantage- deliciously close but safely out of view. Telling myself it was just curiosity.

Suddenly she turned her head and saw me. She pinkened with recognition and her lips parted. We locked in on each other. As if dancing.

Dancing on a terrace. A nest of lights in the distance. Weightless, formless…

I felt dizzy, bumped into someone else. More apologies.

Sharon kept looking straight at me. The brush-cut man was facing the other way, looking contemplative.

I retreated further, was swallowed by the crowd, and returned to the table short of breath, clutching my glass so tightly my fingers hurt. I counted blades of grass until Larry returned.

“The call was about the baby,” he said. “She and her little playmate got into a fight. She’s tantrumming and insisting on being taken home. The other girl’s mother says they’re both hysterical- overtired. I’ve got to go pick her up, D. Sorry.”

“No problem. I’m ready to leave myself.”

“Yeah, turned out to be pretty turgid, didn’t it? But at least I got a look at La Grande Maison ’s entry hall- big enough to skate in. We’re in the wrong business, D.”

“What’s the right business?”

“Marry it young, spend the rest of your life pissing it away.”

He looked back at the mansion, cast his eyes over the grounds. “Listen, Alex, it was good seeing you- little male pair-bonding, hostility release. How about we get together in a couple of weeks, shoot some pool at the Faculty Club, ingest some cholesterol?”

“Sounds great.”

“Terrific. I’ll call you.”

“Look forward to it, Larry.”

Buttressed by our lies, we left the party.

He was eager to get going but offered to drive me home. I said I’d rather walk, waited with him while the bearded valet fetched his keys. The Chevy station wagon had been repositioned for quick exit. And washed. The valet held the door open and expectorated a mouthful of “sirs” as he waited for Larry to get comfortable. When Larry put the key in the ignition, the valet shut the door gently and held his palm out, smiling.

Larry looked over at me. I winked. Larry grinned, rolled up the window, and started the engine. I strolled past the cars, heard the wheeze of the Chevy’s engine followed by curses muttered in some Mediterranean language. Then, a clatter and squeal as the wagon accelerated. Larry zipped past, stuck out his left hand and waved.

I’d walked several yards when I heard someone calling. Thinking nothing of it, I didn’t break step.

Then the call took on volume and clarity.

“Alex!”

I looked over my shoulder. Navy-blue dress. Swirl of black hair. Long white legs running.

She caught up with me, breasts heaving, upper lip pearled with sweat.

“Alex! It really is you. I can’t believe it!”

“Hello, Sharon. How’ve you been?” Dr. Witty.

“Just fine.” She touched her ear, shook her head. “No, you’re one person to whom I don’t have to pretend. No, I haven’t been fine, not at all.”

The ease with which she’d slipped into familiarity, the effortless erasure of all that had passed between us, raised my defenses.

She stepped closer. I smelled her perfume- soap and water tinged with fresh grass and spring flowers.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Oh, Alex.” She placed two fingers on my wrist. Let them rest there.

I felt her heat, was jolted by a rush of energy below my waist. All at once I was rock-hard. And furious about it. But alive, for the first time in a long while.

“It’s so good to see you, Alex.” That voice, sweet and creamy. The midnight eyes sparkled.

“Good to see you too.” It came out thick and intense, nothing like the indifference I’d aimed for. Her fingers were burning a hole in my wrist. I dislodged her, put my hands in my pockets.

If she sensed rejection, she didn’t show it, just let her arm fall to her side and kept smiling.

“Alex, it’s so funny we should run into each other like this- pure ESP. I’ve been wanting to call you.”

“About what?”

A triangle of tongue tip moved between her lips and licked away the sweat I’d coveted. “Some issues that have… come up. Now’s not a good time, but if you could find some time to talk, I’d appreciate it.”

“What issues would we have to talk about after all these years?”

Her smile was a quarter-moon of white light. Too immediate. Too wide.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be angry after all these years.”

“I’m not angry, Sharon. Just puzzled.”

She worried her earlobe. Her fingers flew forward and grazed my cheek before dropping. “You’re a good guy, Delaware. You always were. Be well.”

She turned to leave. I took hold of her hand and she stopped.

“Sharon, I’m sorry things aren’t going well for you.”

She laughed, bit her lip. “No, they really aren’t. But that’s not your problem.”

Even as she said it, she came closer, kept coming. I realized I was pulling her toward me, but with only the faintest pressure; she was allowing herself to be reeled in.

I knew at that moment that she’d do anything I wanted, and her passivity touched off a strange meélange of feelings within me. Pity. Gratitude. The joy of being needed, at last.

The weight between my legs grew oppressive. I dropped her hand.

Our faces were inches apart. My tongue strained against my teeth like a snake in a jar.

A stranger using my voice said, “If it means that much to you, we can get together and talk.”

“It means a lot to me,” she said.

We made a lunch date for Monday.