We didn't sleep at all, of course. And then, it was ridiculous—I had to go. I had to go back to my house stupidly early the next morning because I had a date to meet my friend Yudhi. He and I had long ago planned that this was the very week we were going to leave on a big cross-Balinese road trip together. This was an idea we'd come up with one evening at my house when Yudhi said that, aside from his wife and Manhattan, what he most missed about America was driving—just taking off with a car and some friends and going on an adventure across those great distances, on all those fabulous interstate highways. I told him, "OK, so we'll go on a road trip here in Bali together, American-style."

This had struck us both as irresistibly comic—there's no way you can do an Americ-an-style road trip in Bali. There are no great distances, first of all, on an island the size of Delaware. And the "highways" are horrible, made surreally dangerous by the dense, mad pre-valence of Bali's version of the American family minivan—a small motorcycle with five people crowded on it, the father driving with one hand while holding the newborn infant with the other (football-like) while Mom sits sidesaddle behind him in her tight sarong with a basket balanced on her head, encouraging her twin toddlers not to fall off the speeding motorbike, which is probably traveling on the wrong side of the road and has no headlight. Helmets are rarely worn but are frequently—and I never did find out why—carried. Imagine scores of these heav-ily laden motorcycles, all speeding recklessly, all weaving and dodging across each other like some kind of crazy motorized maypole dance, and you have life on the Balinese highways. I don't know why every single Balinese person hasn't been killed already in a road accident.

But Yudhi and I decided to do it anyway, to take off for a week, rent a car and drive all over this tiny island, pretending that we are in America and that both of us are free. The idea charmed me when we came up with it last month, but the timing of it now—as I am lying in bed with Felipe and he's kissing my fingertips and forearms and shoulders, encouraging me to linger—seems unfortunate. But I have to go. And in a way, I do want to go. Not only to spend a week with my friend Yudhi, but also as a repose after my big night with Felipe, to get my head around the new reality that, as they say in the novels: I have taken a lover.

So Felipe drops me off at my house with one last passionate embrace and I have just enough time to shower and pull myself together when Yudhi arrives with our rental car. He takes one look at me and says, "Dude—what time'd you get home last night?"

I say, "Dude—I didn't get home last night."

He says, "Duuuuuuude," and starts laughing, probably remembering the conversation we'd had only about two weeks earlier wherein I'd seriously posited that I might never, actually, have sex again for the rest of my life, ever. He says, "So you gave in, huh?"

"Yudhi," I replied, "let me tell you a story. Last summer, right before I left the States, I went to visit my grandparents in upstate New York. My grandfather's wife—his second wife—is this really nice lady named Gale, in her eighties now. She hauled out this old photo album and showed me pictures from the 1930s, when she was eighteen years old and went on a trip to Europe for a year with her two best friends and a guardian. She's flipping through these pages, showing me these amazing old photographs of Italy, and suddenly we get to this pic-ture of this really cute young Italian guy, in Venice. I go, ‘Gale—who's the hottie?' She goes, ‘That's the son of the people who owned the hotel where we stayed in Venice. He was my boyfriend.' I go, ‘Your boyfriend?' And my grandfather's sweet wife looks at me all sly and her eyes get all sexy like Bette Davis, and she goes, ‘I was tired of looking at churches, Liz.' "

Yudhi gives me a high five. "Rock on, dude."

我们当然一夜没睡。而后，荒唐的是——我得离开。隔天一大早我必须愚蠢地回自己的屋子去，因为我和朋友尤弟有约。他和我老早计划这个礼拜一起展开我们的环巴厘岛公路之旅。这是某天我们在我屋里想出的主意：当时尤弟说，除了他的老婆和曼哈顿之外，美国最让他怀念的是开车——和几个朋友钻进车子里动身展开远距离的冒险，行驶于美妙的跨州公路上。我告诉他："好吧，我们一块儿在巴厘岛走一趟美式公路之旅吧。"

我们两个都认为这个主意滑稽得诱人——在巴厘岛根本不可能进行美式公路之旅。首先，在面积相当于德拉瓦州的岛上，根本没有所谓的"远距离"。而无所不在、疯狂驾驶、相当于美国小型车的小摩托车——挤着一家五口，父亲单手驾驶，另一手抱着新生儿（仿佛抱着橄榄球），而身穿紧身纱龙裙的母亲在他身后侧坐，头上顶着一口篮子，一边注意着一对才刚会走路的小孩，警告他们别从快速行驶、可能逆向行车且无前灯的机车上摔下来——使这可怕的公路，更为危险万分。很少人戴安全帽，却常常——我未曾查明原因——"携带"安全帽。试想这些累累重担的摩托车飞速地横冲直撞，而巴厘岛公路上处处是人。我不晓得每个巴厘岛人怎未死于交通事故。

然而尤弟和我依然决定离开一个礼拜，租车周游这座小岛，假装我们人在美国，而且是自由之身。上个月我们想到这个主意时，我大受吸引，然而此时——当我和斐利贝躺在床上，他吻着我的手指、前臂和肩膀，怂恿我待久一点——却是很不巧的时刻。可是我必须走。就某种程度而言，我也确实想走。不仅和我的朋友尤弟共度一个礼拜，也是让自己在与斐利贝度过重要的一晚后稍事休息，以面对新现实，如同小说里所说的——我有了情人。

于是斐利贝送我回家，给我最后的热情拥抱，我的时间刚好足够淋个浴振作精神，而后尤弟驾着租来的车抵达。他看了我一眼，说："好家伙——昨晚何时回家？"

我说："好家伙——我昨晚并没有回家。"

他说："好——家伙。"并笑了起来，可能想起我们两周前才进行的对话，当时的我郑重断言自己这辈子可能永远不再做爱。他说："所以你投降了？"

"尤弟，"我回答，"让我讲个故事。去年夏天在我离开美国之前，我去纽约州北部边远地区看祖父母。我祖父的太太——他的第二任太太——是位很好的女士，名叫盖儿，现年八十多岁。她拿出一本老相簿，给我看19世纪30年代的相片，当时她十八岁，跟她的两名好友和一位监护人去欧洲旅行一年。她翻阅相片簿，让我看那些叫人惊叹的意大利老相片；我们突然翻到一张相片，是个俊俏的意大利家伙，在威尼斯。我说："盖儿——这帅哥是谁？"她说："那是旅馆主人的儿子，我们在威尼斯所待的旅馆。他是我的男朋友。"我说："你的男朋友？"我祖父的娇妻诡秘地看着我，散放出贝蒂?戴维斯（BetteDavis）的性感眼神，说："我当时看腻了教堂，小莉。"

"尤弟跟我击掌说："继续努力吧，老兄。"