She indecently pressed back. I had a flash of déjà vu. Maybe I did remember her. It could not have felt more like a dream. We finished a song and ...eaded over to the bar. On the way, Lisa dropped a bomb. “Oh, hey, this is my husband,” she said, introducing me to a perfectly nice and handsome guy. That felt odd, but it got odder fast as she blatantly continued to flirt with me in front of him. She asked what he was doing after the party and what his schedule was for the following day — making. But it was in D.C.! He had scribbled a personal message on the invite—"You gotta come to the opening—it's really deep shit, this time." Apparently the National Endowment for the Arts was providing the funding.I looked on the card for the gallery name and address—there wasn't any. The card simply instructed me to be at the Rosslyn Metro station at 8 PM on the date of the opening. Curioser and curioser, I thought. But I made arrangements. I could stay with friends who lived in Georgetown and. More

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