She tried to take her mind off his delay. I want to redecorate, she thought. Why wouldn't he let her soften the place with drapes or some such? All the floors and walls were hard and cold. It wasn't a friendly place, and she suspected he liked it that way.

Just then she heard the weird mechanical wheezing of the robotic lock on the door. Most days this sound would fill her with joy -- at last, he's home! -- but it was different tonight.

"Welcome home," she said, archly.

He seemed oblivious. "Oh -- hi." He started to go up the stairs. "I'm going to bed. You go about your business."

What? He was going to bed? It had been months since they'd been intimate. "You come down here right now, Mister!" she hissed.

She tried to screw up the courage that had eluded her for so long. "Look. I've put up with the steady stream of white-guys-with-ties and their out-of-town developer friends. And your weird fixation with uniforms and the military: I've been willing to overlook that, except I think you need therapy. But don't shut me out of your life. I won't stand for that!"

He reluctantly trudged down the stairs, making his way to her. He looked all the world like a petulant child.

"Do we have to talk now? I'm really tired, and you're really neurotic."

Why did all their "bad" conversations have to take place in the middle of the loft, she wondered. She hated standing in the middle of that horrible red circle painted on the floor. It made her feel like a target.

"You've been distant and scary. What's going on? Why won't you talk to me?"

"Well, you know, I... uh... well...."

His entire head seemed to glisten with sweat. He was looking Nixonian, and she thought she had broken him of his Nixonish habits, like the one he had of picking up an extension and listening in on phone conversations of the volunteers. She shuddered at the memory. At least he hadn't bombed Cambodia recently.

"Look, I went to DC, I had some laughs, and now I'm back. What else do you want from me? You should consider yourself lucky to have me."

The City had had enough. It was time to go all Alannis Morrisette on his ample ass.

"Where the hell have you been? Do you seriously think the world revolves around you? Let me look in your briefcase."

"No -- don't!" he protested, and lunged for the bag.

It was too late. She grabbed at a scrap of white fabric tucked inside. Pulling it out, it fell to the floor. It was a brassiere with "PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES SENATE" embroidered on one of the cups.

"You were with her! How could you? She doesn't want you! She mocks you! She thinks you're a goofy lightweight! Besides, there's no room for you!"

His eyes glistened and took on a faraway look. "A man can dream, can't he?"

She grabbed his coat. "Let's just see what's in here!" she said, roughly rummaging through the pockets.

A telltale accordion strip of condoms fluttered to the floor. He pretended to study the ceiling light fixture.

Her face turned ashen. "My God -- Trojans! And some of them... used!"

This took his betrayal to a new level. "How could you... how could you....?" She sank to the cold concrete floor. Her body shook with soundless sobs.

The Prince hated when women did this. Not fair. Not fair at all. Why can't a woman be more like a man, he thought. Men are so honest, so thoroughly square; eternally noble, historic'ly fair.... Then he remembered meeting Rex Harrison at a party once. That party in Beverly Hills where the hors d'oeuvres were really excellent. I wonder if that caterer is still in business? And that the way she made the garnishes... hey, there's a flash of light coming from the outside the building... is someone trying to take my parking space?

He felt the City shaking him by the shoulders. She had recovered enough to notice that he had fallen into one of his fugue states. "Focus, honey, please focus," she said gently through her tears.

He looked at her with a coldness and ferocity that took her aback. His face turned bright purple. "To hell with you! You don't understand me! You don't support me! You just pick at me with your questions and your naysaying and I WANT OUT!"

He stormed out of the tin can building and jumped into his little red corvette.