IV

Iwent home and sulked. If our relationship meant so little to her, let it be. As I put it down, I find relationship to be a disgusting, misused word, suitable for second cousins and not much more. When I first met Martha Pembroke at the mixer dance between Wellesley and MIT, no one would have described what happened between us as a relationship. We fell in love with each other; but by trying to think about Janet on that night, after the dinner party, I made it a relationship. I recall the word because I subsequently spelled it out to Dr. Lieberman, who said, yes, his practice was full of relationships. The next day, sulking no longer filled the void that was beginning to open in my life. I considered going to Jack’s for dinner and forcing a meeting, but knowing Janet, I presumed that she had already arranged with Jack to seat me with another waiter, and in my self-pity, I had two frankfurters at a sidewalk pushcart, went home, tried to look at the television I had purchased the week before—Janet and I had curled up on the couch, watching some idiot program, content with being together— found myself irritated, only irritated. I read the newspaper. I opened a copy of the New Yorker and studied the cartoons without pleasure or amusement. And I kept looking at my watch, waiting for ten-thirty, when she might be home, and then I contained myself until eleven. I called her at eleven o’clock; no answer. I called at eleven-thirty; no answer.