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grandmother,” was Willie’s response.
    “His dog,” John said. “Definitely his dog.”
    They were joking, trying to cover for me in front of this woman, who apparently had some right to be jealous. But the question was, did they really know Jen?
    “I’ve got to talk to you guys.”
    I apparently said it with enough intensity that they realized that whatever was going on was not a joke.
    “Okay … sure,” John said.
    “Can we take a walk?” I asked.
    Within moments we had left the table, and I could hear the women talking among themselves about the weird way I was acting. I waited until we got outside to start.
    “I’ve got to ask you guys something. I am not joking, so please give me straight answers.”
    They both nodded, worried but clueless about where this was going.
    “Last weekend, was I here with you, at this bar, watching the Knicks play the 76ers?”
    They both nodded, and John said, “Sure. What’s going on, Rich?”
    “Who were we with?”
    Willie motioned back toward the inside of the bar. “Them.”
    “Those three?” I asked.
    “Right,” said Willie. “You okay, Rich?”
    “Was one of them my date?”
    John nodded again. “Lauren.”
    “She’s the one who kissed me?” I asked.
    Willie said, “Of course. Hey, Rich, you’re weirding me out. What the hell is going on?”
    Asking me what’s going on would have been humorous if it wasn’t so pathetic. “Do you guys know somebody named Jennifer? Jen?”
    Willie shook his head no, and John said, “I dated a girl in college named Jen. I don’t think you ever met her.”
    I sagged against a parked car. My nightmare was ongoing. They asked me again what was going on, and I told them everything, in excruciating detail. I kept hoping for some flash of recognition, some restored memory, but there was none. Nor was there any sign of deception, but I wouldn’t have expected that. These were my friends; they wouldn’t be a part of any conspiracy. And there couldn’t be a conspiracy this wide.
    When I was finished, John put his hand on my shoulder. “Rich, I don’t know what to tell you. I would say it’s some kind of amnesia deal, except then you’d be forgetting things that happened. What you’re doing is remembering stuff that never happened. But if you were living with somebody, if you were going to get married, we’d know about it.”
    “I don’t know much about this stuff,” said Willie, with apparent embarrassment. “But I think you ought to talk to somebody. My sister went to this shrink, she says he’s really good, and—”
    I interrupted him. “Will you guys take a ride with me?”
    They agreed, and John went back in to tell the women that we had to leave in order to deal with something. Willie took advantage of the time to say, “Hey, Rich, you’re not bullshitting us, are you? I mean, this isn’t some kind of weird joke, right? I mean, I hope it is, in a way, but if it is, you should tell me now.”
    “Willie, it’s the furthest thing from a joke I’ve ever experienced.”
    We walked over to the parking lot and got in my car. On the way, I kept mentioning stories of things they had done with Jen and I, of times we had shared. I was desperate to get them to remember something, anything, but they kept drawing blanks. They thought I was crazy, and it was becoming pretty likely that they were right.
    We drove down to the art gallery in Soho, the one that Jen was a partner in with Sandy Thomas. John and Willie had never been to the gallery, though they certainly should have known of its existence through Jen.
    If Jen ever existed.
    The gallery was instead a check cashing/Western Union place, with MoneyGram advertisements in the front window. I drove around the block, in case I had the wrong address, but I knew that I didn’t. I had been there numerous times. To pick up Jen, not to send MoneyGrams.
    I begged off going back to the bar and dropped Willie and John off there. I asked them to convey my regrets to