This was important to me, for I had recently ended a relationship with a man I’d financially supported for a couple of years, in the mutual understanding that both of us had been placed on earth to further his career. This man fancied himself a film director and had costumed himself for the part: smoking a meerschaum pipe and wearing black turtleneck sweaters, impenetrable sunglasses, and a smug expression.
… every new relationship is an overreaction to the one that came before…
The Chinese have a phrase: The man takes a drink and then the drink takes the man.
Falling in love is transformative, at least for a time; in its early, adrenalized stages you become more generous and joyous and lustrous than you would otherwise be. This is a bubble certain to burst, and until it does there is no way to accurately assess whether the object of your passion is someone you actually like, or whether you’ve simply fallen into yet another instance of delusion at first sight.
But whether he could admit it or not, a danseur at fifty-one is, by definition, a hobbled man seeking balance on a wire.
… sooner or later, the rules always win.
… to settle for the familiar formulation that half a loaf is better than none.
Like many wandering, famous men, The Actor had discovered that being adored can be more gratifying than being loved, for the price of being loved is to be known.
We’d both been around long enough to know that, all too often, the best part of a rendezvous is the anticipation.
The effect was soothing and chaste, and I felt at home. Perhaps I would still be living there now were it not for the fact that another man came into my life, in so gradual and subtle a way that I didn’t notice what was happening.
Those years left their mark on him, of course, a mark as permanent and apparent as a tattoo.
People left people. It was cruel and it was common, and they were gone without a trace.