He dreamed of happiness. And everything seemed to promise it: and the pitchers of narcissi on the bar shelf, and the sharp scent of charm, boldness, tenderness spread through the club, and a couple of “long islands,” and the feeling of certainty that he was loved—and loved back—by the one special person who was now far away. He dreamed… but there was no “April” in his heart. There was none of the feeling that he was still young. There was no faith that love was real. To drown out the sharp pain of what hadn’t happened and was lost, he decided he simply wanted to spend a good evening…