“I found myself talking about you a lot while I was gone. Of course it never failed that someone would ask who you were and I didn’t know what to say—she’s my friend, she’s my roommate, she’s the girl I’m sleeping with? What am I supposed to call you?” “Last weekend, Vera and I met a guy in Prospect Park who, for a dollar, made up a rap using our names. He told us to call him Yo-Yo. Why don’t you call me Yo-Yo?” Loring neither smiled nor laughed. “Help me out here, please.” “Sorry. What do you want to call me?” “Mine.”
