She was away for the weekend, visiting friends from graduate school in Philadelphia, but on Friday he’d courageously left a message on her home voice mail.“Hey,” he’d said after her machine beeped, “it’s me.” They had talked on the phone enough the past few weeks that he knew no further introduction was necessary. Ever since her midair invitation, where she’d made it clear he didn’t have to marry her in order to lie down with her, Tony had bounced back and forth like a tennis ball between Venus and Serena. He’d never been so indecisive.He’d definitely moved the line separating him from Audrey. Technically platonic, they were undeniably sliding toward some form of intimacy. Hands had been held, lips had touched, brushed, and bonded, but the line hadn’t faded completely. Four times in three weeks she’d had him at the foot of her bed, and each time she’d beckoned him forward, her hands drawn out in coaxing fashion.Serena, of course, still hung in the air; as a result he’d been too torn to take that last familiar step with Audrey, the same one he’d taken with dozens of women of all races, nationalities, and zip codes.
