ALREADY NADEREH IS DRESSED AND IN THE KITCHEN AREA SLICING eggplant for one of the many dishes she will prepare for tomorrow evening’s dinner party. But it is only Friday morning, no later than eight o’clock, and I sit at the counter with hot tea and toast.

“Nadi-joon, do you not think you will be able to cook one meal in one day?”

“Khawk bah sar, Massoud.” Dust on your head, she to me says. And she smiles as she turns to rinse her hands in the sink’s water. Before her, the kitchen window is only partially blocked by the staircase to the new widow’s walk, something I was grateful to see, for Nadi has said nothing of it. The najars completed their work yesterday not long after the lunch hour. I was so pleased with the final appearance of it, the long straight rails of the staircase, the strong wide boards of the walk, the railing there too, that when I wrote the young najar his final check I included a fifty-dollar bonus for such a professional job well done. I was of course still feeling the beneficial effects of the visit I had made to a lawyer in downtown Corona that afternoon, a very short gentleman wearing a silk bow tie who, for one hundred fifty dollars, heard the details of my situation, examined the paperwork of the sale from the county, and then advised me there was nothing anyone could do against me. The property belonged to me now and I could do with it what I wish.

Last evening Nadi, Esmail, and I stood on the new structure and watched the sun disappear. It was a ball of bright saffron sinking into the sea, turning the water purple, the sky orange and green. Nadi put her arm around our son’s waist and she began to tell him of the beauty of the Caspian, did he remember any of it? But, for the first time, there was very little evidence of pain in her voice when she spoke of our old life, and I put my hand upon her shoulder and listened to her speak to our son and as the sky and ocean colors slowly darkened I felt a certain regret that I must sell this property that has brought my Nadi back to herself. But I felt also all the more determined to make it worth my troubles, to earn back at least three times my original investment. For two days I have heard nothing from the woman lawyer in San Francisco. Nor have I heard from the county tax office. And this is as it should be; I will not contact them. They have heard my offer. And if they refuse it, I can turn to the open market. Yesterday I received two telephone inquiries regarding the home and I have made appointments for showings on Monday.

I rise from my breakfast and go to the door for my shoes. I see that Nadi has hung something new on the wall above the sofa. In a gold frame it is the prized photograph of myself and General Pourat addressing Shahanshah at a Persian New Year’s celebration at the Imperial Palace. The king is dressed in the finest of European suits while Pourat and I are in full uniform, our hats in our hands, smiling at something complimentary the king has said of our air force. Also in the photo are three men, a foreign minister from Africa and two large Savakis, their hands folded before them, their faces and eyes empty of all humor. I know Nadi has hung this picture not only for Soraya’s benefit, but for her own as well, for of course Soraya’s new relatives have already seen the photograph at our expensive apartment in Berkeley. They have investigated us and they know the caliber of people we are, but I suppose Nadi must remind them, so they do not regard this small bungalow and perhaps forget.

My wife rinses radishes and cucumbers in the sink for a meal we will not eat until tomorrow evening. I wish to tell her to slow herself, to rest; our daughter is already married and we must no longer break our backs. But I know my Nadi. My lack of concern will worry her further and then she will insist we paint the walls and hang new drapes before tomorrow. No, for this moment I leave her to herself. I will drive down the hill into Corona and purchase tasteful outdoor furniture for our widow’s walk, and perhaps I can find what is called a love seat for the young husband and wife, my lovely daughter who I last saw two weeks past, stepping into the rear of a limousine dressed in ivory satin, her long black hair tucked up upon her head beneath a spray of baby breath flowers which she wore like a crown.

IN ONLY TWO NIGHTS AND TWO MORNINGS LESTER BURDON WENT from being a distraction for me to the main movie, and I wasn’t even sure how that happened, though I know it started when he picked me up right at seven-thirty Wednesday night wearing polished black cowboy boots, black pants, a gray tweed jacket, and a white shirt buttoned at the throat. His hair was combed straight back and his mustache looked less crooked. He was so handsome I immediately doubted how I looked; I’d changed only twice, finally ending up in black rayon slacks, a white dress blouse, and a short rust jacket I always liked because when I buttoned the bottom it pulled into my waist and made me look like I had more of a bust. I wore my black dress pumps and the pressure of the right one felt almost good, like a fresh bandage. I had put my hair up too and now I wondered if I looked womanly enough, but Les took me in like he’d never seen anything so perfect before and on the drive up the highway for San Francisco under the setting sun I wondered if he left his house dressed like that, what did he tell his wife?

The Orion Room was at the top of the Hyatt Regency close to the long wharfs of Embarcadero Street. The restaurant took up the whole top floor and was surrounded by carpet-to-ceiling windows that leaned out at a slight angle. A large square bar was in the middle of the room and three bartenders were working back there now, their shirts and ties and faces bottom-lit with green light. The bar was full of well-dressed men and women laughing and talking over the music of the piano player, who sat on a raised platform, a dim light on him as he played and sang an old song I couldn’t name. The mâitre d’ led us past crowded candlelit tables and I tried not to limp as much as my foot still needed, which was hard to do in heels and I was sure everybody must be looking. Our table was small, covered in white linen, and it was right up against one of the glass walls. I could see the tops of skyscrapers looking gold and pink in the dusk light, the blue stretch of the bay, but the whole picture was moving and I had to sit down in the chair the host pulled out for me.

“It’s a revolving room,” Lester said. “Would you rather go someplace else?”

I looked at him, then back out the window. He was right. Already I was seeing less of the tall office buildings and more of San Francisco Bay, a half-dozen tiny white sails, the yellow hills of Berkeley on the other side. I laughed. “This is weird.”

“Do you like it?” Lester was smiling, though his eyes were in a squint like there was only one answer he could really handle.

“Yeah, I like it.” And I did once I got used to it. Our waiter showed up fast, his blond hair so short he could’ve been in the military. He asked what we’d like to drink and when I ordered a mineral water Les did the same. After the waiter left I lit up a cigarette. “You don’t have to go without because of me, Lester.”

“Oh, I don’t miss it. I’m not a big drinker anyway.”

“Me neither. I mean, I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t?”

“Only when I did lines. That’s what almost killed me.”

Lester’s brown eyes looked more deep-set than ever.

“You’ve done them too, haven’t you, Officer Burdon?”

Les shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

The young waiter came with our mineral waters. He handed us tall menus, then recited the night’s specials. I watched him walk back to the main dining area, then I looked over all the full candlelit tables to the piano player, who wasn’t singing now, just playing something slow and sad, and I turned and looked back out the window. This time I could see the Bay Bridge to Oakland, the long gray cables in the twilight. “Have you ever done anything against the law, Lester?”