After the door slammed and her heels sounded on the marble staircase, I started sobbing.

Jenga-boy tried to calm me down, but all he could say—what the Monageque would say—was “what’s wrong?  I don’t understand, you were fine a minute ago.  What’s wrong?”

It was only Jack who didn’t ask me questions, only gently instructed me, “Calm, please breathe.” 

“Nothing,” I said as I pulled on Jenga-boy’s Nirvana t-shirt to resume our game.  He tugged on his corduroys and remained shirtless as he settled Indian-style on the floor next to the stack of blocks.  “You’re insane,” he said laughing, “Thank G-d, you’re so beautiful.”  I got that from her too.

“Dessert,” the housekeeper yelled to us.  From then on I brought different boys down to dinner, but we always came down right when she called.