"Who's going to read Jim Morrison and say, ooh, man, that s.h.i.t changed the course of my life? He doesn't make a lick of sense. He's about nothing. But unlike Seinfeld, he's not even remotely funny."

Larissa remained completely silent, her back to him.

"You know why?" Jared went on. "Because there is no there there. At its heart it's empty. It's shallow. Because in the end it's nothing more than drug-addled lunacy."

"Well, I like him," Larissa said. "Why does everything have to be profound? Why can't it just be?"

"Yes, but what does it mean?"

"Why does it have to mean anything?"

"If it doesn't mean anything, then why write it?"

"Why do anything?"

"Good question. Morrison himself said all he wanted to do was to f.u.c.k away death." Jared smirked. "How'd that turn out for him?"

Larissa had no response.

And on Monday Jared became mired in managed money and retirement accounts, and a pesky variable annuity that involved a nearly insolvent commercial real estate account in Hoboken. There was no time to think about the guilt of her madness.

It wasn't a question of him reading Wonderland Avenue. The only thing Jared had been reading the last eight years of his life were the Generally Accepted Accounting Principles, the annual reports of the Fortune 500 companies, and the templates for auditing safeguards. By keenly a.n.a.lyzing the relationship between regulation, quality attributes, and diversification, Jared was sure he could keep at bay that most undesirable of events, a tax audita"an unwelcome intrusion by the public into your private business.

Chapter Four.

1.

Glad in the Guilt

Larissa was crushed against the hard white wall and her hands were up, perhaps around his neck, or flayed against the wall, like she was flayed, her gasping coming out in hot bursts of disbelief and ardor. One of his hands cupped her face as he kissed her, and the otherashe was pawed, her dress, her arms, her hips; he raised her dress, put his hand under it, and if she breathed out, she wouldn't know because his lips were on her, and she lost her head, everything was lost but the hand under her dress, his full palm pressing against her. She wanted to put her own hands up but not in surrender, perhaps in a maybe; say wait, too fast, not fast enough, say, I have to go, though not yet, move away from his lips? though moving away from his lips was impossible, or moving away from his fingers and his spread out hand under her whimsical spring dress, so when she moaned, she moaned into his mouth, barely able to stand up, clutching him as he was panting. Oh, Larissa, he whispered, touching her; with his body he stopped her from falling, he just kept her pinned and confined, his tongue in her moaning mouth, his relentless fingers troubling her into a climax so unexpected and intense, she was condensed to sliding down onto the wooden floor while he kneeled down close by her, rubbing her thigh in earnest comfort, though there was no comfort for her.

"Oh my G.o.d, Larissa," he whispered. "Come on the bed."

Kai, I have to go, she mouthed back, her eyes shut in shame and desire. She couldn't believe what had just happened. What time is it?

"Please. Just for a sec."

Time was the dampera"the worry that her belated appearance at her child's school might ring off a bell into the world, a warning signal she needed desperately to tamp down. Damper: a device to control vibration. His hands were trying to be dampers, pressing down on her legs. But her body was not cooperating. She was vibrating.

"You don't want to go, do you?" he whispered, on the floor next to her, his mouth in her neck, on her shoulder.

It's two o'clock.

He glanced at his watch. "Two fifteen."

"Kai!" Scrambling up, her knees liquid, her insides molten, she didn't look at him, couldn't look at him as she gathered herself together, straightened her dress, got her purse and keys that had fallen, her lipstick.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he said. It was Thursday.

"I know." She held onto his forearm, his bare arm that had just been unfathomably wrapped around her.

He drew her back inside, into his arms. "What are we going to do?" he groaned. "I can'taI needa"

"I know. But I have to go. Pleasea"

"Larissaa" Kai murmured in daylight, like a song, as he kissed her.

The aching nerves like twitching live wire, the aching insides full of fire and longing, the intemperate blinding desire to staya"nothing but the smallness of a waiting child could have made any woman take a step away from a man that inflamed, with lips that impa.s.sioned, his whole body begging her to stay.

"Tomorrow I'm supposed to work in Chatham till noon at the masonry yard, and then be at Jag by two."

"And I'm casting through lunch."

"I'll call in sick," he said, his hands squeezing tight her waist. "Come in the morning. Come," he whispered. "Promise?"

She was out the door and down the stairs. Down thirteen wooden steps, into her two-seater, reversing out of the drive, trying not to glance up at him standing at his open door.

2.

A Dance to Lighten the Heart

In movies, Larissa knew, right after this momenta"there was nothing. She walked down the stairs, drove off, and the film director cut toa"

Cut to what? The next day, the next breath, the hands on her bare body, lying on his white bed, cut to the following afternoon. But this wasn't a movie. This was her life. There was nothing to cut to.

Gripping the wheel with both hands, afraid she would get into an accident, Larissa drove extra carefully five miles to her son's school, parking just as the first grade teachers were escorting their backpacked charges outside. She ruffled her son's hair, said h.e.l.lo to three other moms, including Donna, whom she forced herself to talk to for ten minutes even though her swollen mouth couldn't remember English and her ears certainly didn't understand a word of Donna's. But inside a forethought was forming: I may need her. I might be late one day, I may need heraAnd just as she was thinking this, and willing herself to smile, to nod, Michelangelo, standing somberly nearby, eating his fruit snack, pulled on her hand and said, "Mom, don't think I didn't notice you were almost late again today."

"Son, but I wasn't late. Almost late means not late."

"I know. But you almost were," said an unperturbed and disapproving Michelangelo. "You've been coming almost late a lot lately."

Donna, pleasant and without makeup, smiled knowingly, lifted her eyebrows, and made some kind of jokea"wittily, or so she thoughta"insinuating possible reasons for Larissa's tardiness, and Larissa right then and there knew she wouldn't be able to use Donna again to look after her way too precocious son. They didn't stay at the playground but came home instead, where they had an hour before Emily's bus. In that hour, Larissa put Michelangelo in front of her TV in the master bedroom and reluctantly took a shower. She didn't want to take a shower, she knew a shower would wash off the scent of her fevered trembling, and yet she had to take a shower.

When she came out, Michelangelo, splayed on her bed, paused Cartoon Network. "Mom," he said, "why did you just have a shower in the middle of the day?"

"Because I needed one." That was the truth.

"Why did you need one? What did you do?"

"Nothing. I was running around and got sweaty. What did you do?" She toweled off her hair.

"Weird, Mom. Freaky." He turned to the TV, pressing PLAY.

Larissa glanced at her watch: 3:15. What in the world was she going to do? How was the day ever going to pa.s.s? She couldn't imagine the next sixty seconds pa.s.sing without collapsing, convulsing.

At 3:35 Emily arrived, inhaled a handful of grapes and a yogurt, ran upstairs, changed her clothes, ran downstairs, grabbed her cello and said let's go. Michelangelo reluctantly had to come with them. He was enjoying lying on his parents' bed. That was a treat he didn't usually get after school. After she dropped off Emily for her New Jersey State School Music Evaluation rehearsals, Larissa waited for Asher to come to the parking lot from track and tell her he was running ten miles in a row today and to pick him up not a second after 5:00 p.m.

She and Michelangelo came home, Maggie called. Larissa talked to her for five seconds. "What's the matter with you?" said Maggie. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry, Michelangelo is pulling on me. I gotta go, Mags, gotta do homework."

After she hung up, she called into the den. "Hey, bud, let's go, let's do some spelling, turn off the TV."

At 4:30, they drove to pick up Emily, and then whiled time away in the car, listening to music, until Asher came out all wet and sweaty from the field behind the school promptly at five. "Mommy was sweaty today too, Ash," said Michelangelo after his brother got into the car. "She had to have a shower."

"Thanks, bud, for telling everyone about my day," said Larissa. She was sure Jared would hear about her impromptu shower.

By the time they got back home it was 5:20, and she started dinner: steak and French fries. At 6:20 p.m. Jared walked through the door. "You smell clean," he said after he kissed her.

"That's *cause Mommy had a shower today." Michelangelo jumped into his father's arms.

"Did she?" Jared studied her bemusedly, moving his head away from his son's face.

"So I can be nice and clean for you, darling," said Larissa with a twinkle in her eye, prompting Jared to set down Michelangelo and usher him out of the kitchen.

"Come here, you naughty girl," he said, motioning to her.

But the steaks were grilling and had to be turned over, and the ill-timed fries were starting to burn, and the broccoli was soggy and unboiling. Impromptu s.e.x after an impromptu shower was barely averted.

They ate, noisily, talked about track, cello, the spelling test, Spanish vocabulary, the meaning of alternating current, the plans for a new mall only twenty miles away in Orange County, the possibility of taking an adult theater cla.s.s at Drew, and then Larissa looked at her watch, and it was 7:15 p.m. and there was still an evening and a night and a morning.

She offered to clean up without Jared. "Go, change your clothes, get yourself comfortable. You've had a long day. Go on."

He kissed her in grat.i.tude and left her alone in the messy kitchen. The kids played their instruments, did their homework, there was a fight over TV viewing privileges, and Stephen Marley on the kitchen stereo singing, Hey Baby, hey, babya Bo called to invite them out to dinner Sat.u.r.day night.

After Jared came downstairs he said they were going out Sat.u.r.day night with visiting clients of his, here from California, and couldn't. "This is tax time, and we're having people from all over. Sorry. Reschedule with Bo, will you? Wait, let me call her. I have to make your birthday plans anyway. Is dinner in the city at the end of April okay? You know how crushed I am right now. It's tax time."

"Of course, darling. Whatever works best for you. We'll go out when you're less busy."

He left the kitchen to confirm birthday plans with Bo at the Union Square Cafe, and when he returned he said, looking puzzled at the counter, "Lar, did youadid you just wash all the dishes from dinner?"

Larissa hadn't realized she had. Instead of just rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher, she had washed them by hand, polished and dried them.

"I'm feeling nostalgic for the old days," she explained with a light smile. "In Hoboken. When we didn't have a dishwasher. It's nice actually. Relaxing."

"Now suddenly it's nice and relaxing," said Jared. "Back then you called it h.e.l.l."

"What did I know then of heaven and h.e.l.l, Jared?" said Larissa, looking for something to dry her wet hands.

"I told you Mom was weird," said Michelangelo, hanging on to his dad. "Come, I want to show you my new karate chop." Jared said he couldn't wait and they left.

Larissa finished spraying the countertops, making a shopping list for tomorrow. After all the work was done, she looked at her watch: 8:01!

Another excruciating, slow-ticking hour inched by while she gave Michelangelo a purple-colored bath with bubbles. Somehow, by 9:30 the children were in their rooms, the little one asleep, the big ones reading. Larissa made herself a cup of tea, slowly walked from the kitchen to the den and perched down on the arm of the sofa. When would this day be over? When would the next day begin?

Jared came out of his office. "Sorry. I have so much work to do."

"It's okay, honey," she said. "I know it's tax season."

"Do you want to do something?"

They settled into the couch. The lights were dimmed through the house, the shades were drawn. Riot was chewing on what Larissa hoped was one of her toys and not Larissa's leather sandal. They watched The Mexican. Larissa didn't register a frame of it. Jared fell asleep twenty minutes in. She didn't wake him, but covered him, and as he slept, she sat next to him watching the TV screen, the eyes of her soul watching her being pinned over and over and over again against the wall, and then collapsing on the hardwood floor.

11:15.

11:32.

12:09.

Kai had forgotten his wallet. Larissa had to pay for the sushi, not that she minded. After they had finished eating he asked if she would mind giving him a lift to his place so he could get his wallet and his bike.

Oh, sure. No prob. No problem at all.

One turn off Main onto Cross, a left on Kings, a right on a road called Samson, and then into a rectangular loop residential road called Albright Circle, one of the oldest streets in the neighborhood, a block away from the train tracks that ran through Madison. He asked her to pull into a courtyard-sized driveway at the back of an old three-story clapboard house painted yellow. The driveway was like a parking lot, gravel-lined with enough room for a Mafia wedding. It had a detached garage, where she guessed he must keep his bike. She was right because he slid open the garage door and pulled the Ducati out. On the gra.s.s nearby Larissa spotted two cars on cinderblocks and a truck with its cab burned out. "I think the landlady's son does something with them," Kai told her, replacing the kickstand and grabbing his helmet. "He either fixes them up and sells them, or else he's the one doing the damaging. To this day I can't tell."

"Have you met him?"

"Oh, yeah." Kai grinned. "I'm telling you, it can go either way." He started walking to the back of the yellow house to a long white wooden staircase that led to a white deck on stilts.