My mother sipped wine, examining me over the rim of the glass. Then, with slow deliberate movements, she put the glass down and scooped her large brea...ts out of the blouse and cups of her bra. “I thought,” she said, turning around, “that you might want something to take your mind off Rebecca and the divorce.” As she said it, my mother shimmied and hauled her skirt up past her hips. “No knickers,” she told me. “And I’m wet. I’ve been fingering myself.” She then leaned her elbows on the counter. If I didn’t know him, I would think he was just an urban legend.’ ‘Damn. You know he wasn’t even taking notes when we studied. What’s up with that?’ ‘He has something like a photographic memory. I don’t understand it, really, but he says it has something to do with organizing facts. He doesn’t just remember the facts. He understands them and that’s how he remembers them, or something like that.’ ‘Gee, that’s clear. How did you find all this out?’ ‘Mostly from him. It was like pulling fucking. More

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