When the collector couldn’t eat another bite, she surprised me again. She lay back on the pillows and let him massage her feet. She did not close her eyes but watched me instead. I knew that if I stretched out, dropped my feet in Arnold’s lap, he would massage my feet, too. Two Father Times massaging four young feet in a geisha establishment. It was too depressing to contemplate. I let my feet fall painfully asleep rather than give her the satisfaction we were alike.

After the check was paid (by the collector), she easily slipped on her heels while I had difficulty buckling my numb feet into my gladiator sandals.