It's so easy to dial the numbers on a keypad to reach someone. 7 punches and there she is. I didn't call anyone; someone called me. He called me as he said he would in his last virtual communique. I arranged a sale for him, which has created a practical reason for the recent rash of e-mails between us. There is nothing romantic and sudden about it. Having moved just last week, and not yet having internet access at his new place, he has had to resort to the phone to accomplish what would normally be nailed down by way of a different kind of wireless communication.

On Tuesday He will come by my job and money will change hands. Art bought outside an office building where people will be loitering on their smoke breaks. And then we will go back to never speaking, except for the occasional e-mail.

I am like Tchaikovsky's Widow Patron. Except they never saw each other in person, but I feel in my heart that she must have longed to meet him. No woman has ever bankrolled a man's career out of the goodness of her heart.