The Lighter

On Christmas Eve, architect David Senenmut paid another visit to the apartment of his ex-wife, who was away on a trip. He took a bath, cleaned his teeth, slicked back his hair, and sat down, hands clasped around his knees, looking for all the world like a cube. He rested in that position for some time. All of a sudden he wished he could hold some tiny being in his arms . . . a child, perhaps a little girl . . . to protect and defend her . . . Then he brought the lighter out of his pocket and slipped it into the red-and-white gift bag scattered with glitterdust made up of tiny mirrors. He had a glass of Scotch and selected from his wife’s bar a bottle of sparkling Italian wine. He chose the blue women’s champagne called “Blu,” the sweet variety from the Muscadet grape, and not the men’s with the “brut” label. As he wrapped the bottle in white tissue paper, he reflected on how wine is an eternal invalid like a woman but dies like a man, and only rare wines outlive a human existence . . .

On the note given to him by the lingerie store salesgirl he read her address and made his way there carrying the champagne. She was waiting for him, the floor of the room strewn with straw, and as she hugged him, she gave him a gold-wrapped box tied with a bow.

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