It was a week before Alex called Dolly. In between appointments at the Athena’s he would turn down the lights in his massage room, start the timer, nudge the dial that controlled the music, and lay down on the table to replay what had happened between them in his mind. The dangers of calling a woman who could see through him scared him cold, but he wanted her answers.

            Lying flat of his back he saw her questioning him, leading him into traps to expose that exposed how little he knew. The air cooled. Her footfalls paced across the floor. Her clothes rustled free in the dark under electronic recordings of hurricane winds.

            On the massage table,...

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