In the kitchen, setting out breakfast things, Futterman thinks with relief that Stacy Shanahan would no longer be working at his law firm, thank God for small blessings. He isn't sure how he will get out of this, but at least he won't have to face this girl — though in her thirties, she seemed a girl to him — every day in the office. He used to wonder how men who slept with lots of women handled the get-away part. All he wants right now is to have this girl out of his apartment, so that he can work through his hangover and get back to the calm routine of his life. 

When Stacy Shanahan enters the kitchen, Futterman hands her an already poured cup of coffee. She takes her coffee black. She turns down his offer of toast. 

"I don't know what to say about last night," she says. "I hope you will believe that I am not someone who ordinarily wakes up in the bed of a man without quite knowing how she got there. And I'm certainly not someone who wakes up in the bed of a man she hardly knows. It's not my way, really it's not, please believe me."

"I believe you," Futterman says. "I'm probably more to blame than you. I guess I've been lonelier than I thought since my wife died. I didn't mean to take advantage of you."

"I'm more than 30 years old, Mr. Futterman, and ought to be able to take care of myself. Advantage doesn't enter into it. I don't think anyone taking advantage of anyone else is the issue here."