An indeterminate number of years ago, those two pillows billowing upward from Rey’s encircling arms like two plump, inflatable breasts, soft but firm, would have suggested to Gavin the real breasts, equally soft but firm, that were hidden underneath. He might have hammered together a clever metaphor incorporating, for example, two sacks of feathers, and, by way of them, two sexually receptive chickens. Or possibly – because of the bounciness, the resilience, the rubberiness – two trampolines. Now, however, these pillows recall – in addition to the breasts – an overdone avant-garde production of Richard the Third they’d seen in a park the previous summer. Reynolds made them go; she said it was good for Gavin to get out of his rut and be in the outdoors and expose himself to new concepts, and Gavin said he would rather just be in the outdoors and expose himself, and Rey nudged him playfully with her elbow and said, “Bad Gavvy!” It was one of her kittenish tropes to pretend that Gavin was a dysfunctional pet.
