Free Starting Over by Dan Wakefield

Baklava.”
    Potter cleared his throat. He hadn’t yet got around to mentioning that they were going to the Bertelsens’ for dessert.
    â€œWell,” he said, “uh, we sort of were invited to these friends, of mine, after dinner. For dessert and coffee.”
    â€œOh?”
    Renée looked at him in a way that was interested, but slightly apprehensive.
    â€œYou’ll like them,” Potter said quickly. “But listen, you can have the Baklava too, if you want.” He smiled. “Be really indulgent.”
    Renée straightened up in her chair and dabbed the napkin at her lips. “Oh, no. I’m actually stuffed, as it is.”
    Potter glanced at his watch. “Well,” he said, “maybe we should go on over there.”
    He divided up the last of the Retsina, gulping his own down thirstily. It tingled pleasantly, like a mouthwash. They had knocked off a full bottle of the stuff.
    The Bertelsens and their guests were still around the dinner table when Potter and Renée arrived, just a few bites into dessert. It was Indian Pudding. Marva was in her New Englandy mood. There was also Paul Tuckerman and his wife, Lynn. Paul was a bright young Urban man at Harvard whom Potter had met briefly at a Bertelsen cocktail party. Tuckerman was said to have done some very important work in Redevelopment, and was often called to Washington. When he referred in conversation to “John,” he meant Mayor Lindsay. His wife Lynn had perfect teeth and displayed them often, in a stern, intimidating look that had the shape but not the spirit of a smile. She was working toward her doctorate in Education, and had a special interest in Criminal Rehabilitation. Potter believed her smile alone could significantly lower the rate of recidivism in any given Correctional Institution.
    As Potter might have guessed, Hartley Stanhope was there. Stanhope, a lean man with distinguished grey hair, was a widower who had been the Bertelsens’ ace Eligible Bachelor, at least until Potter arrived on the scene. Now Potter and Stanhope vied for the top spot, alternating in favor as their stock rose and fell with Marva. Potter wasn’t really sure whether he disliked the man because of this rivalry, or because Stanhope occupied a secretive but influential position as a biological consultant to a government-backed Research Foundation. Potter imagined that Stanhope, the sort of scientific guy who smoked a pipe and sang in a Madrigal Group, probably thought up ways of poisoning the rice of the entire Asian land mass in the cleverest and most convenient manner.
    Tonight, though, was one of the times that Potter felt less hostile toward Stanhope, perhaps because he knew that on this occasion Stanhope had been tapped as the Eligible Bachelor for dinner only after Potter had been unable to accept. Knowing that Stanhope was unaware of this made Potter feel even more benevolent toward him. And yet, there was an edge of jealousy, for Stanhope, even if second choice, had wound up as Dinner Partner for the Bertelsens’ new female discovery, a divorcée without any children.
    Potter took one look at Marilyn Crashaw and quickly looked away, fearing his immediate attraction to her would be embarrassingly obvious. He grasped Renée’s hand under the table, and smiled at her. She looked at him suspiciously. He had never held her hand before.
    After the Indian Pudding and espresso, the party moved to the Library for cognac and conversation. As was customary on these occasions, topics were discussed. Topics of Significance. But Potter was only vaguely aware of them, as they blurred across his mind, chalked words on a classroom blackboard.
    Inflation. Indochina. Administration efforts to muzzle the press. Liz Drew’s insightful piece on “The White House Hard Hats” in the October Atlantic . The “no-knock” law and its implications for the future of privacy. An Agnew joke. Speculation on whether