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allow that. Pursuing my writing was acceptable; a suitable hobby for an officer’s wife.
    I loaded the dirty dishes into the machine and stacked the pans by the sink. I liked doing the dishes; it meant I could stay busy while David filled me in on more of the dull trivia that completed his day. I’d have washed the plates, too, except then he’d complain about me not using the household appliances properly.
    I felt sorry for Sebastian; he’d seemed so happy and carefree as we’d wandered through Little Italy. It must be awful living with a controlling bastard like Donald Hunter – and Estelle, so cold and heartless. Well, I didn’t have to guess how it felt to have a mother like that: I knew exactly.
    Perhaps it would be a good thing if he enlisted, if only to get away from his damn parents.
    I realized I was spending way too much time thinking about Sebastian; and I had enough concerns of my own. I resolved to get my résumé up-to-date, and to contact City Beat in the morning. And then I had an idea: it was something that might help Sebastian – and it would definitely wind up his father at the same time. Undoubtedly it would irritate David, too; that was practically a given.
    Pleased with my idea, I finished up in the kitchen and hunted down my notepad. I wanted to sketch out my thoughts while they were still fresh in my mind.
    I sat cross-legged on the bed and began to make some notes. I really needed internet access, but we hadn’t yet got around to hooking up DSL. David expected me to take care of things like that; for once I was in agreement with him. In the meantime, I’d have to find a café with Wi-Fi, or head to the library.
    “What are you doing?”
    Sometimes I wondered if it would be simpler if I just gave David an itinerary of my day rather than answer his endless questions on how every hour had been spent, or was going to be spent.
    “Just jotting down some notes; I had an idea for an article.”
    “You look tan; it suits you.”
    I looked up, recognizing the tone in David’s voice: he wanted sex.
    He took the notepad and pencil out of my hands and tossed them on the floor.
    “Come here.”
    Dutifully, I stood up and went to him. He unzipped my dress and lifted it over my head, dropping it on top of my notepad.
    I started to unbutton his shirt, but he brushed my hands away.
    “Turn round.”
    I followed his instruction and he unhooked my bra, then briskly yanked my panties down.
    “Lie on the bed. No, face down. You really have gotten some nice color today; I can see your tan lines.”
    I felt the bed shift as he lay down next to me.
    “I’ve always liked you with a tan, Caroline.”
    He ran his hand down my spine and stroked my ass several times. I heard him undo his zipper and I rolled onto my side as he stroked himself, steadily encouraging his erection.
    “Do you want me to do that?”
    “Okay.”
    I carried on, watching his eyes close and his mouth slacken.
    “Okay, that’s enough.”
    Then he lay down on top of me, his weight forcing me into the bed, and entered me carefully. He thrust half a dozen times, shuddered, then stopped.
    “Mmm!”
    He lay back on the bed, smiling. I stared at the sheets: I’d have to wash those in the morning.
    “What are your plans for tomorrow, Caroline?”
    “I’m going to get my résumé together and then contact that newspaper I mentioned. Oh, and I’ll call the telephone company to get DSL hooked up.”
    “Good idea. I’d like to throw a little party for the guys at the hospital: a week from this Saturday okay? About 7 PM .”
    “Sure. Canapés and red wine?”
    “Better get some beer, too. And that fancy pressé you like, for the wives. Maybe some of those little… what do you call them… cannelloni?”
    “Oh, cannoli siciliani? Sure.” Damn it. It would take me all morning to make those tricky little fuckers .
    “Great. Thanks, honey.”
    He heaved himself off the bed and strolled into the bathroom. I heard him pissing into the