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her, trying to maintain his composure and not feeling very successful.
    “I loved you,” he whispers. He would wipe the tears from his eyes if his arms weren’t so tired and sluggish. “I trusted you.”
    “I know. I’m so sorry.”
    “How am I supposed to do that now? Trust you?”
    “Because I love you, Steve. I made a mistake, and now I’m asking you to forgive me. Please forgive me.”
    “How do you expect me to—” He stops and begins again. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that.”
    Her breath catches at this. Her chest heaves.
    “Steve, please—”
    “Do you know what I heard? Do you have any idea how horrible it was?”
    “I love you, Baby.” She reaches for his hand, wraps her fingers around his. “I love you so much.”
    He tries to pull his hand away, but Janine’s grip is like a vise. “Then why the hell did you do that to me? Is that what you do to someone you love?”
    “I messed up! Okay? I made a terrible mistake, and I know it must have really hurt you, and now I’m asking you to forgive me. I don’t want to lose you over this. I don’t want us to throw away everything over some stupid thing that didn’t mean anything.”
    “You’re the one who threw it away,” Steve says. “You hurt me and I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore.”
    “Oh, Baby. Please. Please don’t do this.”
    Pain swells in his chest. He can sense reality swimming away from him, the way it does when he drinks too much, time losing linearity, emotions flashing strobelike, on and off, on and off. He hasn’t fallen out of love with Janine. At the moment he can’t really imagine how he’s going to live without her. And yet. . . .
    “If you’re not home, I’ll always wonder where you are. Every time you take on a client, a guy, I’m going to wonder if you’re having sex with him.”
    “Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. I messed up once, Steve. Once.”
    “You could do it again.”
    “And you’re so perfect, is that what you’re telling me? That you’ve never cheated on anyone before?”
    He tries not to shout, but somehow he’s having trouble controlling the pitch and volume of his voice. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you!”
    “Oh, whatever! Such a little angel you are.”
    “Janine, don’t let it turn into this.”
    “I’m not letting it turn into anything. You’re the one who’s being unreasonable, who won’t give me a second—”
    “Look,” Steve interjects. “I don’t want to make a goddamn . . . I’m . . . shit. My parents are outside. They don’t have to know about this now. I’m just saying that when we get back to L.A., I think you should come by and get your stuff.”
    Janine begins to cry again, softly.
    “Baby, I found the ring. In your coat pocket. I didn’t mean to. I was just checking to make sure nothing had been stolen. You were going to propose.”
    Steve doesn’t say anything. This embarrasses him, that she knows just how bad it was, how fundamentally his life changed during the short mobile-phone call.
    “I would have said ‘yes.’ ”
    Steve looks away from her, at the wall, at the empty, white wall.
    “And now you’re not going to ask me?”
    “I’m sorry, Janine.”
    She leaves him.
    He lies there for a moment and breathes steadily, deeply, ignoring the tears filling his eyes.
    8
    When he decides Janine isn’t coming back, Steve pulls the sheet away and surveys his body. He’s naked. His left leg is mostly covered with a sprawling, plum-colored bruise. Carefully, turning his torso with a slow, gradual movement, Steve gathers the IV tube so that it won’t pull out of his arm. Then he pushes down with his elbows and slides his legs toward the edge of the bed.
    The pain is enormous. It shoots from his feet to his groin and from his groin to his feet and beats wildly in his left shoulder and hip. Steve summons every ounce of willpower not to scream. Collapses on to his back. Lies there sweating.
    Goddamn Janine. How could she