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work. Emil went to the refrigerator to get himself a
beer. He popped one for Ray and handed it to him, then another for himself and
closed the door.
    “Hey,” said Marion.
    “Oh, right.”
    He got her a beer, opened it and stepped
out of the kitchen and handed it to her.
    “Sorry, Marie.”
    “Marion.”
    “Sorry. You care for one?”
    “No,” Janet said.
    She
needed something a whole lot stronger. Not too much, god knows she had to keep
her wits about her. But Jesus, something. She went to the kitchen cabinet and took down the fifth of
Glenlivet and a glass and uncorked the bottle.
    “Scotch?” Ray said.
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Hey, we got scotch too. Have some of
ours. Be our guest.”
    “No thanks. This is scotch. You bought rubbing alcohol.”
    She poured herself a double. Ray took the
bottle from her hand.
    “So educate me,” he said.
    She got him a glass. He poured and drank.
    “Smooth. What is it?”
    “Single malt.”
    “Good stuff,” he said.
    “Where’s the bathroom?” said Marion.
    Janet pointed. “Through there. Through
the bedroom.”
    “What’s over there?” Emil said.
    He was pointing to the closed door to the
study. Neither Emil nor Marion knew what she happened to do for a living yet
and for some reason she didn’t want them to. So far the others hadn’t said
anything. But if he went browsing around in
there he could probably figure it out for himself.
    “A study. Books and papers.”
    He moved to the door and opened it and
flicked on the wall switch and his eyes went to the cluttered desk.
    “You work here?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “You some kind of writer or something?”
    “I write.”
    She walked over and as she turned the
light off again and closed the door in front of him she saw Alan’s forgotten
briefs on the end table.
    He
needed them tomorrow .
    He’s
supposed to be staying in town tonight.
    “Please,” she said. “This room’s
private.”
    He shrugged and smiled. “Sure. Okay. You
figure on writing about me?”
    “Would you want me to?”
    She glanced at Billy, slumped in the
armchair, opening and closing a big sharp-looking folding knife, his brow
furrowed as though deep in thought. Billy’s
got a knife, she thought. You damn well remember that too.
    “Sure I’d want you to. Farm boy makes
good, right? You know I’m the seventh son of a seventh son? Supposed to be
magic or spiritual or something, real powerful. Now Billy here’s a preacher’s
son. A very spiritual being in his own right. And Ray ..
    He turned to Ray, who was drinking
Glenlivet straight out of the bottle.
    So
much for a second one for me ,
she thought.
    “Hey, Ray, what’s your story anyhow?”
    “No story, Emil.”
    He laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
    Then the door to the bedroom opened and
Marion appeared and her anger at all four of them flared from dull to blazing. She was wearing the black Versace nightgown,
the one Alan had more than splurged for in Manhattan last Christmas, the one
she’d worn just four times since—that night and then on his birthday, her birthday
and the Christmas following and the garter belt was hers too and the panties
and the black silk stockings.
    “I borrowed some things,” she said. “Hope
you don’t mind.”
    Oh, I mind, she thought. You bitch. You
bet I mind and you damn well know I
do.
    “Lord, Maria! Look at you!”
    He went to her and Janet had cause to
wonder exactly how much jealousy was floating around here in the room just then
between these guys because Ray moved toward them too from the kitchen, the
expression on his face unreadable as Billy stood up gawking while Emil ran his
hands over her, showing off for them and for Janet too, Marion laughing and
wrapping her arms around him as he dragged her back through the doorway to the
bedroom and pulled her down on top of him across the bed, hips already
grinding.
    She saw Marion break the kiss, his big
hands roving her breasts, and saw her turn and stare at her and knew that
Marion was