In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

are shoulder, the frayed edges of her tank T shirt that disappeared into
her curls, the squiggle indicating the Hudson's hazy nether shore. The
head, hair and the curve beneath her breast were all lovingly,
hypnotically rendered in almost three dimensional form.
Meanwhile, back in Soho, Ula plucked from the mail a card
from Venice, from the Gritti. It was another Rachel Whiteread, from
the general to the specific, a plaster cast of a mattress on its side against
a wall in an empty room, from an old Venice Biennale. On the back, he
wrote only that he had found him.
He blew in a few days later with new bags, new shoes, a new
suit, British, and a small metal briefcase. He kissed her and hugged her
like nothing had ever been wrong between them, then took her out to
dinner at Le Cirque, her favorite. He was at peace with the world, he
said, and to prove it he gave her a diamond pendant, bigger than all the
others. But he slept alone in his closet that night as he had every other
night. The next morning he showed her the contents of the briefcase.
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