However, I recall hearing that she’d had a baby a few months after we parted: I guess Claire was that erstwhile child.“So,” I said, “where’s...Arturo? That was his name, wasn’t it?”I’d never met her husband, and there was no wedding ring on Jazz’s finger.She shrugged. “He split, years ago. We were in Catalonia – or maybe it was Tuscany. A very fit young trapeze artist joined us and, long story short, they went off together.”I’d opened a bottle of Merlot, and now filled glasses for Jazz, my wife,. My knees would get weak thinking about it. “How did you like those pictures, anyways?” I tried to hide it and pretend. “What pictures? Your cock pics?” “Yeah” he said, “Sexy, right?” I tried to laugh it off but I had a lump in my throat and my voice cracked. Yes! I thought to myself, I fucking love your cock! Of course I didn’t say it, but I think I didn’t need to. “I know you’re into guys” he said very matter of factly. I acted surprised and insulted, but my voice cracked again and my face. More

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