It turned out that we had followed strangely similar paths. While I found refuge in academic economics, she went to Italy for a year, and then started...working in the Economist offices in Washington. Became a full-time card-carrying journalist, doing technical editing. ‘Yes, but your poetry?’ I asked, ‘And did you finish your novel? I’ve often looked for it, but didn’t know the name you would use.’ ‘No’, she said, ‘I haven’t been able to do anything like that since we parted. How about you?’. He put his hand right on my ass while talking to Ken, who was on the other side of me. I shivered and shuffled my feet nervously. Then he went further. He pulled my skirt up in back and wormed his hand between my legs, right up against my panties. Jesus, what is he doing? I could hardly slap him or remove his hand without being noticed. I couldn't even just walk away because my skirt was up so far in back. No one could see my predicament except Stan on my left, Ken on my right, and Tommy. More

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