Artists were always somewhat flamboyant, and besides flamboyancy wasn’t an accurate measure of gayness. The teacher put a fruit bowl in front of...us. She talked a little about the light and the shadows and how the exercise was to look at the the shapes of the light, but it didn’t really register. I was only focused on him, he had an itch on his ear and scratched, he tilted his head and squinted his eyes while he studied the fruit bowl, he chewed on the back of his paintbrush before deciding. Arden scattered like pungent diamonds over the wet, heaving body of her stricken husband. They had spent the evening cleaning the bathroom and trying to avoid each other’s eyes – he for the shame of so spectacular a failure, she for the shame of wanting to laugh at his startled rabbit face as she swung the door open on him. That night in bed, she held his shamed cheek to her breasts, cooing that she never wanted the hero in question anyway, he had a split personality and his shirts were too. More

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