She is standing by the punch bowl, not shadowing me as she's done, not for just tonight, but for three years. "Hello, Sam."

"Lisa."

She looks around at the party, the atmosphere, the people she spurned that night in New York. "Congratulations on all this."

All this. If I ever doubted that I made the right decision, those last two words did it. Completely devoid of all but the most perfunctory feeling, by their politeness they burrow into me. "Thank you," I say, completing the banal verbal box step. "I'm glad it went as well as it did."

She nods, barely paying attention. Her eyes are fixed on Josh, and C.J., laughing and talking. They appear, in truth, extremely relaxed; you wouldn't think they had helped in their own ways with probably the most important speech of the term.

Abruptly she says, "So, you're happy?"

I'm momentarily taken aback. What, can't she see that I'm having the time of my life? It's only later I realize how full of irony my thoughts are.

"I love this," I say at the time. "I'm making a difference."

It's all I can do not to choke on my last few paltry words. Could I be telling bigger lies? Of course, does it really matter? She told the biggest lie of all to me.

Golden Lisa, of course, doesn't seem to notice. "Well," she says, with a hint of regret -- or jealousy? -- "I'm glad you're happy."

Are you really? Or are you sorry I didn't stay with you to have all of the life sucked out of me? God knows that everyone here is doing a damn good job!

She recoils as if I've slapped her. "Excuse me?" Lisa says, her eyes filling with the tears that always used to make me fall like a soufflé after an earthquake.

Oh, Christ, was I talking out loud? "I -- nothing," I mumble. God knows what I've just done can't be taken back. And I don't want to be on her level. I don't want to hurt her.

I take a deep breath. "Lisa," I say, "I have problems. Of course I do. Who doesn't have problems? I'm trying to work through the past. It's proving a little difficult. And I think the best way would be for you to stay away from me.

For the first time since I've known her, I'm forced into cliches -- she's speechless. I can literally see her flounder for words as she picks up the train of her gown, whirling to go in a black cloud of satin.

Thus, I have to explain quickly. "It wasn't any specific thing you did, Leece," I say. She glares at me and I hastily revise. "Okay, it was something you did. But it's okay."

"Is it really?"

"It will be."

Her eyes are in mine, and I feel one short, stabbing pain that reminds me how much I need someone. Anyone. "Sam," she says, "can I offer you some advice?"

"Okay."

She tosses it over her shoulder as she melts out of my life. "Don't go looking for Arcadia when you've got this in front of you."