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She didn't cook, but she might someday in that house in the suburbs she and Michael always joked about sharing. Alain, anal rape sunk anal rape into his brown leather easy chair, watched TV in Hebrew. The two lovebirds had abandoned her as soon as they'd returned to Tel Aviv that morning. In Jerusalem, they'd become intolerable, inseparable. They wanted to linger all day under the lime green awning of the cafe at the top of the street and babble together in Hebrew, their secret language, which Michael suddenly remembered. She tried to persuade the couple, if that's what they were now, to go with her to the Old City, so she could take pictures in the Suk for friends. "Friends.," Eli sneered. "Americans, always with your friends." Like she was some flirt, which couldn't have been further from the truth.
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