Jane Delury
In the Infinity Room, mirrored balls floated and spilled over the floor, reflecting the feet, the shoulders, the hands of strangers—and there was Dan, in a wheelchair, parked in a corner, his head tilted back. When they’d had their affair, he was the vice president of admissions at her university. Thickset and gregarious, he wore crisp suits and laughed from his belly. He lived in the suburb of Lutherville with his wife and four children. He’d found Gwen spellbinding—that was the word he’d used. Gwen had known that she was merely the image of what he wanted, the “intellectual” who didn’t paint her nails and had a reading dent between her eyes. She hadn’t even liked him that much, but she’d felt electrified by his attraction.
