Tsipi Keller

She married him, in part, for his last name, it had an associative flare and, unlike hers, was solidly American and middle-class.
Often, in the middle of the night, to put things in order, or, possibly, in order to calm her, he opened the fridge and offered her slices of American cheese, which she gratefully slurped down.
"You're a man who knows his bitch," she said, as Bonbon, their 8-year-old terrier, sprawled herself across the brown linoleum floor.
"You're too true to be good," she said further, and he patted her sleepy head, quite pleased with her self.