She was happy to see him, even relieved. And she desperately wanted to ask where he’d been all night. Instead, she said, ‘I’m trying to sleep.�... He came to the foot of the bed. His jacket and vest were gone, and his shirt was left half unbuttoned. He looked a mess. Shyly, she held the blankets up to her chest. He pointed in the direction of his room. ‘Then why aren’t you in bed?’ She looked at him, bemused. ‘I am in bed.’ Was he foxed? Oh dear, had she married a drunk? But this fault paled. Their server, Frank, whom they had known for a year, came up to her and asked in soft tones, ‘Do you still want your soup, Rosanna?’ ‘No thanks, Frank,’ she answered and got up to leave the restaurant, her damp sweater and pants clinging to her suggestively. She garnered a few brief stares, but was completely oblivious to anything but the horrible situation she had gotten herself into. She certainly was in the mood for alienating everyone. She would go home, throw a TV dinner in the microwave. More

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