Chapter 7

“Was Lifetime even around then, Robby?” Key asked at my right side. Both of us stood in front of the mirror in our ArchitecturalDigest-styled bedroom. We were in nothing more than our boxer-briefs, aging together in a simple life: the real estate agent and the writer. He was still thin at forty-seven, but he didn’t really look like a young Nicholas Cage anymore. I had gained a few pounds and was starting to look like my mother—God forbid! Key could eat the Bakery on Potomac and not gain a pound. I used Weight Watchers and gained twenty pounds. He still sported those sultry green eyes that had melted me twenty years before. I surmised often that they were magical: pools of intimacy, unrelenting dreams of spending his life with me, and tender. He still worked out. I liked to shop on-line. He remodeled the kitchen. I wrote another book: Skin Diver

“Yes, Lifetime was around then. But Bravo wasn’t…nor was the Internet.”

“They didn’t have sexting or iPads or Tom Toms.”