needs to be the center of attention. He wants everyone to love him. And when
they don’t, he gets anxious and angry and he lashes out.”
Daniel suspected there was a diagnostic name for this condition and Zack
didn’t want to use it. But Daniel didn’t want to hear Abbas defined as a dis-
ease, not even now.
“It sounds like his family helps them financially,” said Daniel.
“Yes, I’ve been wondering how they live the way they live. We both know
how badly painting pays.”
When they got home, Zack took Jocko out for his walk and Daniel called
Ross. He called first at his house—no answer—then his cell number. Ross an-
swered from his car.
“Confrontation with a jealous Iranian husband? Hey, sorry I missed that.
No, I left a half hour ago. Nothing happened. We had a nice walk and chat.
She did the old you’re-not-my-type-but-I-enjoy-flirting-with-you number.
And I did the old if-you’re-feeling-lonely-and-want-to-flirt-again-I’m-your-
handyman bit. Besides, the babysitter was there. What about you? Looks to
me like your hands are full.” He laughed. “I thought something might be up.
That’s why I thought there might be room with me.”
“It’s not as interesting as you think,” said Daniel. “I’ll tell you later. Just
wanted to make sure you got out in one piece. Good night.”
Zack returned, and Daniel told him that Ross was fine. They got ready for
bed and ended up in Daniel’s room, lounging on the covers with Jocko and
continuing the postmortems.
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
1 2 5
“They are their own country,” said Zack. “Like any couple. But they’re
more their own country than others. Well, they have to be.”
“It was fun while it lasted,” said Daniel, “but I’m glad it’s over. I knew it’d
end sooner or later. But better now, when it was just a little nutty, than later,
when it got really nutty.”
“And we got to visit another country. You more than me. But we got a
close look at other lives without going too far from home.”
Zack was his usual calm, easy self, and Daniel was glad. This calm some-
times annoyed him, but not tonight. Daniel noticed Zack was careful not to
say anything that might smack of I-told-you-so.
Back in their younger years of threeways, they often found that they en-
joyed analyzing the evening afterward more than they enjoyed the event itself.
As a result, they had a good time even when they struck out. Tonight felt as
good as the old days, maybe better.
19
The next day was Saturday, and Daniel went to the pool for his swim.
He was relieved that Abbas and the kids weren’t there. In the afternoon
he worked with Zack in the yard, raking and bagging leaves. He wished they
could burn the fallen foliage—he loved the smell—but open fires were no
longer allowed. On Sunday he and Zack took a long walk after breakfast in
Colonial Williamsburg. It was a beautiful day with everything in warm shades
of brown, orange, or yellow: trees, bricks, grass, and sunlight. They could not
hold hands here, and it was never in their body grammar anyway, but twice
Zack bumped shoulders with Daniel as they walked down Duke of Glouces-
ter Street, as if to say hello. Not until the afternoon, when Daniel used to visit
Andrews Hall, did he think about Abbas again. The fucker must be happily
painting away. Oils or semen, it didn’t matter to him how he made his mark.
Daniel was glad it was over.
That evening, however, a sadness fell over him like the drab sadness of
Sunday nights when he was a teenager and Sunday was a school night. It had
been only sex, but sex can’t help promising something beyond itself, a new
and different life. The habit of hope still clung to sex. Now hope was gone.
Daniel reminded himself that sex might start out as fun but it always ended
badly, in pain or boredom, sorrow or resentment. He fixed a good dinner for
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
1 2 7
Zack and himself that night—steak and salad—and afterward they watched a
new DVD of Chaplin two-reelers and Daniel felt better.
He woke up the next day, Monday, feeling exhausted, barely able to get
out of bed. He wondered if he were coming down with the flu. Luckily, Mon-
day was Fundamentals of Form, which he could teach in his sleep. Two hours
of student conferences were scheduled for the afternoon, but his energy had
returned by then.
Daniel gave each student fifteen minutes, which colleagues found overly
generous, but his students enjoyed talking about their art—“processing”—
more than they enjoyed doing it, and Daniel indulged them. The two hours
passed painlessly. He thought he was done for the day when Maureen Clark