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"So, I'm really sorry I didn't call.  I know that..."  Yeah?  Yeah?  "I know that you were upset, and I should've called, and I didn't and I know you must be very unhappy."  Yeah?  If you fuckin' knew that why didn't you call?  Cause he's got better things to do.  He's got rocks to climb.  "Yeah, I'm a little pissed," I say. "I know, I know, and I'm sorry."  Say you were wrong!  Don't just say you were sorry, say you were wrong!  Say you thought I was flirting hey, you WERE flirting Say you knew I was flirting but you knew I didn't mean it.  Because I would never do that to you.  "I'd like to make it up to you," he says.  Say you're wrong!  Say I'm right! "How bout dinner?"  SAY I'M RIGHT!

He ends up taking me to the Formosa, and it's a perfectly lovely evening.  We get all dressed up, we don't have to, but we want to, and he looks so impossibly dashing.  

I catch a glimpse of us off the mirror on the wall and it looks like we belong there.  It looks like we belong together.  And I'm civil, I'm cordial.  I'm polite.  


And he spends the entire evening telling me how much he loves me.  How he loves every single little thing about me.  From the baby hairs by my temple to the tip of my misshapen pinkie toenails.  He tells me how talented I am.  He says he admires my strength, my perseverance, how absolutely nothing will detract me from my goal of being an actress.  He says he wishes he had my force of vision.  He tells me I'm lucky that I have such a clear cut path, that I know exactly what I have to do in order to get what I want.  He admires my ambition.  He loves the way I look when I sleep.  He says he's glad he knows me now, and wants me to know that when I finally hit the big time and dump him for one of the Fiennes brothers, he'll still be glad he knew me when.  He's never loved anyone with every single part of him like he's loved me.

But nowhere.  Nowhere in the entire course of the evening, do I hear him say he was wrong.  And that I was right.  I know he loves me.  I'm not sure I'm right.