Chapter 10
WINE, PIZZA, FEAR, AND CONSPIRACYThe couple, who stood stiffly apart that Monday evening, waited by the hostess station at a Washington D. C. neighborhood pizzeria while a waitress readied their table deep in the backroom. He had earlier fumbled for her hand, but she had batted away his clumsy attempt at intimacy. They had then attempted small talk about the Redskins football team, but that topic had quickly fizzled. He now made another attempt at touching her, this one a modest one of grazing her finger with its wedding ring, but she inched away from him, a definitive statement she felt in no mood for any physical contact. They must look, she thought, like two middle aged singles out on a terrible blind date. Who could possibly imagine they were married, and their fifteen-year
