This party is great, Maria, it’s really something special. You said this to our host as if she were our friend. Really, we’d known Maria for fifteen minutes and you already wanted to get into bed with her. You wanted a ménage à trois. This sounded stupid and French, but I wanted to get in bed with her too. Though my version of events wouldn’t involve you. You wouldn’t be with us at all.

The party, in fact, had hardly started. Half the guests were missing or late, caught in traffic even though they were taking the train. There was an aubergine on Maria’s counter. We observed it together while we waited for the latecomers and more than once I discovered you had nothing good to say. Eventually we decided she had no time to put her groceries away before her party. So there it sat on the countertop, all fat and purple like a good black eye.

Then the missing guests arrived, and the music finally picked up. Most of Maria’s grand old house was pink, and her living room throbbed like a clotted vein. We tried dancing but I hated your hands and your feet. My head was hot and I felt like a fever; that’s what I said when I pushed you away. Everybody else was out of rhythm and the songs kept cutting in and out, but at least the other partygoers were happy. I found a new partner, and we twirled around while you went missing. I caught Maria standing alone even though it was her party, and I released the faceless dancer from my arms. Dance with me, I commanded her, but then you reappeared and showed her the pills you held in your sweaty hand. You told her you’d made a business transaction. I almost had to remind you that I was there.

What are these? I asked you. You called it bird seed and laughed hysterically before you gave me half. I had to close my eyes and pretend to not know that the pills were placebos from someone’s contraceptive pack. Then Maria vanished and I thought to look for her.

I swallowed the bird seed; I spied the aubergine. I got lost somewhere along the way to her bedroom and found where she hid the hair of the dog. I took a couple sips because the punch was watered down and her party was shit, really shit. It was one of the worst parties I’d ever been to. Everyone kept drinking and drinking. Then Maria rematerialized, you kept telling her how great her party was, and she knew you were lying. You didn’t catch the way she rolled her eyes and looked at me, but you threw up all over her floor because that watered down punch was too much for you. Then you mumbled, I have to go home. Thank god, I said out loud, and I called you a taxi and told Maria that you had to leave.

Everybody else seemed to have the same mind by the time your taxi arrived. Someone decided to accompany you home for the sake of your own safety. I stayed behind and ushered out the stragglers. Thank you, Maria sighed to me more than once, and it felt like a wedding night. When the last guest left, we contemplated the green and brown splash at our feet and agreed that it was good Maria had no carpets.

We washed you from the floorboards. We were hungry when we finished. Maria and I turned to the aubergine; Eggplant parmesan? she asked me. Yes, I said, that would be lovely. I’d gotten some of the puddle on my arm while we cleaned. She told me to shower while she cooked. I undressed, cranked the water hot and scrubbed at my arm like an obsessive-compulsive. I thought about Maria. How long could I stay beneath the spray before she came looking for me, I wondered; but I was too hungry to materialize my thought experiment. Instead, I rushed the rest of my shower and wore her bathrobe at her dining table. The eggplant parmesan was tremendous.

This is the best eggplant parmesan I’ve ever had, I told her. Yes, she said, me too, and then: Do you want some wine? That punch was nothing. Yes, let’s have some wine.

I walked into her kitchen and found the nearest bottle. Thank god for twist-off caps, I said while I poured her a glass. We pretended to fight over the last bite of parmesan, and then we split the rest of the wine. Now let’s dance, she said; and we did, even though there wasn’t any music. We danced and danced. The bathrobe came undone and I didn’t bother tying it again. Then we went to her bedroom and shut the door behind us.

I left her bathrobe on the floor. She dropped her dress beside it and took me beneath the sheets. Evidently we were both still hungry. Is this okay? She asked this out of courtesy, of course it was. Her mouth was everywhere and so was mine. I went between her and she went between me until we’d had our fill. Come to think of it, I forgot about you entirely. Then we had one of those post-coital conversations where everything is illuminated and soft and strange. We tossed nonsense back and forth between our lips. We reminisced about the eggplant parmesan and decided it could never be made so well again. We talked about life, the theater, things like that. Before we fell asleep, Maria had something to say about the latest play. The price of admission was ridiculous, she murmured, you had to pay the rosary. Highway rosary? I whispered against her ear. No, you pray the rosary. You rob the highway. The price of admission was highway robbery.

What a grand cranium she had.