'We don't?'

'No.'

Pearl's head was on my chest, and her nose was perhaps an inch from mine. I gazed into her golden eyes. She gazed back.

'Not a single flicker of intelligence,' I said.

'Shhh,'Susan said. 'She believes she's smart.'

'She's wrong,' I said.

'Sometimes illusion is all we have,' Susan said.

'Couldn't she settle for being beautiful,' I said, 'the way I have?'

'Apparently not,' Susan said.

We were, all three of us, quiet then. The ceiling in Susan's bedroom was painted green. The walls were burgundy. Her sheets were sort of khaki-colored, and the pillowcases had a small gold trim. I reached around Pearl and held Susan's hand. She turned her head and smiled at me across the dog.

'Shall we have a big Sunday breakfast,' she said, 'while you tell me what's bothering you?'

'What makes you think something's bothering me?' I said.

Susan tilted her head a little.

She said, 'You're dealing with a pro here, pal.'

I let go of her hand and patted her belly.

'That's for sure,' I said.

'I didn't mean that,' Susan said.

I shrugged. Not an easy thing with a dog on your chest.

'What would you like for grub?' I said.

'Could we have apple fritters?'

'If you have the ingredients,' I said.

'I have apples.'

'Excellent start,' I said.

'I don't know what else you need,' she said.

'I'll check,' I said, and struggled out from under Pearl and on to my feet.

'And put some pants on,' Susan said. 'I don't want the pity of my neighbors.'

'They'd be green with envy,' I said.

'Confidence is a good thing,' Susan said. 'But humor me.'

I put on a pair of gym shorts that I kept at Susan's especially for postcoital leisurewear. She had managed to salvage just enough top sheet from Pearl to avoid being nude. I flexed at her.

'Dashing,' she said.

I reached over and flipped the sheet off.

'Back at ya,' I said.

I think she blushed very slightly, though I'm not sure. I turned and went to the kitchen.

She had apples and bananas and flour, and, amazingly, cornmeal and some oil. I made coffee and started assembling the fritters. I peeled the apples and skinned the bananas and sliced them and tossed each separately in some orange juice to keep them from turning brown. Then I mixed two small bowls of a flour-and-cornmeal batter, put the sliced apples into one and the bananas into the other. If there's plenitude, you may as well exploit it.

Susan came out of the bedroom with some lipgloss on and her hair brushed. She was wearing a short orange silk kimono-looking thing. I was prepared to eat at the counter, or standing up over the stove for that matter, but Susan had other plans. She put a tablecloth on the dining-room table and set it for two, complete with a glass vase of tulips that she brought in from the living room.

'Powdered sugar, honey, or maple syrup?' she said.

'I like syrup,' I said.

'I like powdered sugar.'

'Put out both,' I said.

'God, you're decisive,' she said.

I let the oil heat in the pot until it spattered when I sprinkled in water. Then I dropped the fritter batter in carefully, a few at a time, and cooked until I had stockpiled a significant serving of each. Susan drank coffee while I cooked.

When we settled in to eat, Susan said, 'So, tell me about it.'

'You shrinks are always so cocksure,' I said.

'Nice word choice,' Susan said. 'In the current context.'

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