I shift my eyes to the window again and outside to the patio where an orange-and-brown striped kitty has just leapt from a branch to the ground. I wonder if . . . (one of the tennis actors slides me a look) . . . I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have what I like or if my tastes are too various to be sustained by one of anything. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get my big huge basketball player back like he was before. Or are all my occasional romances to fall to the ground after a month or so, like the jacaranda flowers?
