‘I neva’ believed in love befo’… I-I thought wid you would be different. I were wrong.’ Her pain made her lash out. ‘I jess’ Karsh afta�...� all I’s dun need o’ want love ifn’ this what it gonna do. Sa’ go…leave…da Karsh were right. All dea’ is be blood an’ lust. I were a fool ta try an’ have anythin’ mo.’ Her words rang false in her own ears. She could have thrown her pregnancy at Jolen, he would never abandon her entirely if he knew. Her pride and fierce dignity prevented her from revealing it. His friend was sitting in the living room, an older, heavyset black man. "Hi, I'm Dave" I said to him. He smiled, "Mike" was all he said. We all sat around in Ron's living room, just talking about crap when Mike asked me if I came over often. "Not as much as I would like" I said, smiling and looking at Ron. Ron started to laugh but stopped as Mike looked at him. He must have known something was going on between the two of us. Ron and I keep things discreet, and behind closed doors but I guess. That was my wife’s name.’ ‘Oh. How long has she been gone?’ ‘Ten years.’ He looked at her closely again. ‘How did you know?’ ‘The ring on your finger, the sorrow in your voice.’ ‘Ah.’ He looked at her left hand, saw the ring on her third finger. ‘You too?’ ‘I was married to Jesus Christ. I quit. A few days ago.’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ ‘I’m, I was, a nun.’ ‘Until three days ago?’ ‘Yup.’ ‘I take it the parting wasn’t exactly amicable?’ ‘You could say that.’ She smiled, though there was something. We kick off our shoes. The room darkens as we drink, and walk around the bare room, looking at Degas’ self-portrait as an old man. The poor soul, cursed with failing sight, he drew with pastels in his later years so that he could feel the paper beneath him. This portrait shows how his failing eyes captured the lights and darks of his visage in a mirror as he worked. Then on to Gustav Klimt, what a beauty, the lovers embracing. The gold leaf work is exquisite despite its aging. The beauty of.