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I had already told them that I was seeing a married man thirty years my senior. To an addict, not one of the boys or girls approved. Despite the messes they had made of their own adolescence, they believed that I had made an even worse choice. The girls in particular found the idea of having an old…

After I hung up, while I was still intoxicated from the accomplishment of having Arnold give up not one but two women for me, my mother swept aside the love beads.

“Is he getting a divorce?” she asked. “Is he going to marry you?”

I accused her of being pitifully conventional, but in truth, I …

rnold told me he wished he could be with me tonight. He was stuck at a party, hiding in the coatroom. The hosts of the party were old friends of his—fellow travelers from back in the Red Scare days. The husband now owned a fur shop in Beverly Hills; the wife was a big supporter of Israel. He didn’t…

Or maybe his analyst asked him about the other sources of his anxiety besides me. His wife, of course. And his other mistress, E.

I knew about E. He had promised me that he was going to break up with her soon, but it was complicated. She was married to a friend of his. The two couples dined regu…

Arnold was in psychoanalysis at the time, as were most of his comrades—lapsed communists with successful fur businesses, screenwriters who yearned to write novels, and admen who wished they were artists. These were the days before pharmacological fixes, so no one had any choice but to talk and talk…