"He's a good guy," Oliver said. "Good painter." He told her about the casting adventure, leaving out the bronze valentine.
Midway through dinner, Jacky reminded him of their last session on her bed. "That was very special," she said. "You please me in so many ways, Oliver." She put down her fork. "I've been transferred. That's why I was in such a bad mood that night. We acquired a bank. I'm supposed to run it, turn it around. I thought I could get out of it, but I couldn't."
"Transferred?"
"Maryland," she said. "It's a promotion, really."
"Oh," Oliver said. He put down his fork. "Damn."
"Come with me." It was part command, part question.
"No—I can't." He knew it was true as soon as he said the words. Am I crazy? he thought, looking at her closely. "It is you who are beautiful," he said.
She tapped the fingers of one hand on the table. "Are you sure, Oliver?
Money is no problem." He nodded slowly.
"Oh, Oliver . . ." She brushed away a tear. He had never seen her cry. "Oh." She shook her head. "Who trains who?" she asked the window in a tight voice. Oliver swallowed. He couldn't speak. This was happening too fast.
"Sex," she said, looking back at him. "There's sex and there's love—two different things. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes, if you're real lucky, they overlap a lot. Most people settle for a little of one or a little of the other." She pushed her chair back. "I love you," she said. She stood up. "Oh, well."