“Victoire,” he said to the moon. “She’s a beauty.”

“There are lots of beauties out there,” I said.

“Right. Aren’t you above it all.”

“Yes, she’s beautiful,” I agreed. I stopped at the middle of the bridge and looked down at the Seine.

“Don’t do it,” Richard said.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.” I looked at him. “So, my friend, am I crazy?”

“No, but you’re a carrier.”

“Am I?”

“Yep.”

“This can’t lead to anything,” I said.

“Nope.”

“I’ve got a beautiful family.”

“Yep.”

“Is this pretty much how this discussion’s going to go?”

“Yep.”

“I actually have feelings for this woman.”

“I’m sure you do,” Richard said. “I don’t even know her and I have feelings for her. And for her mother.” He laughed softly. “Don’t listen to me. I know you’ve done the math, but here it is again. She’s nearly twenty-five years younger than you. When she’s thirty-five, you will be fifty-nine. Not quite old, but you see where this is going. Your daughter will be nineteen and will hate your guts. Your son will be fifteen and he’ll excuse himself from the dinner table so he can go to his room and jack off to internet images of Catherine Deneuve.”

“I preferred the monosyllabic routine.”