Also, it seemed to symbolize his new depressed attitude and therefore, her inability to lift him out of his doldrums. She’d scoured her cookbooks fo...r recipes that were low in sodium and cholesterol yet looked like they would appetizing. She settled on one for boiled chicken and broccoli simmered in an olive oil vinaigrette that looked decent.She watched as he picked listlessly at his meal; he ate it, but without his former gusto. He even complemented her on it, but it wasn’t the same old. Then she would be able to talk about this. About love. But not now."Did you ever find out what happened to that man, the one that attacked me?" she asked, diverting the conversation to another area."Lewis? Yeah. He got depressed and drunk, went home and committed suicide. Can't say as I feel real sorry for him." Did he leave a note?" she asked, her breath held in futile hope. She knew."Yeah. Cute one, too." Oh God, oh God, oh God," she muttered half to herself, half in prayer. "'Fuck the bitch,. " You never acted like you were interested in me," she said."And you never acted like you were interested in me," he returned."I wasn't," she said. "Not really. I mean, not seriously." Well there you go. Girls don't do that." Yes we do," she said."What?" We have fantasies too." Really?" Of course. We're human." What kind of fantasies?" he asked."You asked that the way a boy would ask it," she said."Are you surprised?" I just wanted to remind you, you have to act like a girl now." Yeah, yeah,. She'd take panties, slip, bra, garter belt and stockings (remember, this is like 1963-64) from her dresser and then choose a dress or skirt and blouse or sweater from her closet. I would sit on the bedroom reading chair and watch her and ask about her clothes and why she wore certain items and boys didn't. She'd lay these on her bed and I would sit and cover my eyes when she took off her bathrobe and nightgown until she was almost finished dressing. And then she would sometimes ask me to help.