"Of course I did. And you were fantastic."
As Fred Dove's ego reinflated, his posture improved.
"But no more flowers," Edie scolded, "and no more wine. Just get me a room at the damn Ramada, OK?"
The insurance man solemnly agreed. "First thing tomorrow."
"Look at this place, honey. No roof. No glass in the windows. It's not a house, it's a damn cabana!"
"You're right, Edie, you can't stay here. I'll rejigger the expense account."
She rolled her eyes. "Fred, don't be so anal. We're about to rip off your employer for a hundred and forty-one thousand bucks, and you're pitching a hissy fit over a sixty-dollar motel room. Think about it."
"Please don't get angry."
"You've got the claim papers?"
"Right here."
After scanning the figures, Edie Marsh felt better. She plucked the gardenias from the corsage and arranged them in a coffeepot, which was full of lukewarm rainwater. She opened the bottle of Chablis, and they toasted to a successful venture. After four glasses, Edie felt comfortable enough to ask what the insurance man planned to do with his cut of the money.
"Buy a boat," Fred Dove said, "and sail to Bimini."
"What about wife?"
"Who?" said Fred Dove. They laughed together. Then he asked Edie Marsh how she was going to spend her seventy-one grand.
"Hyannis Port," she said, without elaboration.
Later, when the Chablis was gone, Edie dragged a dry mattress into the living room, turned off the lightbulb and lit one of Fred Dove's candles, which smelled like malted milk. As Edie took off her clothes, she heard Fred groping inside his briefcase for a rubber. He tore the foil with his teeth and pressed the package into her hand.
Even when she was sober, condoms made Edie laugh. When drunk she found them downright hilarious, the silliest contraptions imaginable. For tonight Fred Dove had boldly chosen a red one, and Edie was no help whatsoever in putting it on. Neither, for that matter, was Fred. Edie's tittering had pretty well shattered the mood, undoing all the good work of the wine.
Flat on his back, the insurance man turned his head away. Edie Marsh slapped his legs apart and knelt between them. "Don't you quit on me," she scolded. "Pay attention, sweetie. Come on." Firmly she took hold of him.
"Could you just-?"
"No." It was always bad form to giggle in the middle of a blow job, and Fred Dove was the sort who'd never recover, emotionally. "Focus," she instructed him. "Remember how good it was last night."
Edie had gotten the condom partially deployed when she heard the electric generator cut off. Out of fuel, she figured. It could wait; Fred Jr was showing signs of life.
She heard a soft click, and suddenly the insurance man's festively crowned penis was illuminated in a circle of bright light. Edie Marsh let go and sat upright. Fred Dove, his eyes shut tightly in concentration, said, "Don't stop now."
In the front doorway stood a man with a powerful flashlight.
"Candles," he said. "That's real fuckin' cozy."
Fred Dove's chest stopped moving, and one hand fumbled for his eyeglasses. Edie Marsh got up and folded her arms across her breasts. She said, "Thanks for knocking, asshole."
"I came back for my car." Snapper played the light up and down her body.
"It's in the driveway, right where you left it."
"What's the hurry," said Snapper, stepping into the house.
Bonnie Lamb went to Augustine's room at one-thirty in the morning. She climbed under the sheets without brushing against him even slightly. It wasn't easy, in a twin bed.
She whispered, "Are you sleeping?"
"Like a log."
"Sorry."
He rolled over to face her. "You need a pillow?"
"I need a hug."
"Bad idea."
"Why?"
"I'm slightly on the naked side. I wasn't expecting company."
"Apology number two," she said.
"Close your eyes, Mrs. Lamb." He got up and pulled on a pair of loose khakis. No shirt, she observed, unalarmed. He slipped under the covers and held her.
His skin was warm and smooth against her cheek, and when he moved she felt a taut, shifting wedge of muscle. Max's physical topography was entirely different, but Bonnie pushed the thought from her mind. It wasn't fair to compare hugging prowess. Not now.
She asked Augustine if he'd ever been married. He said no.
"Engaged?"
"Three times."
Bonnie raised her head. "You're kidding."
"Unfortunately not." In the artificial twilight, Augustine saw she was smiling. "This amuses you?"
"Intrigues me," she said. "Three times?"
"They all came to their senses."
"We're talking about three different women. No repeats?"
"Correct," said Augustine.
"I've got to ask what happened. You don't have to answer, but I've got to ask."
"Well, the first one married a successful personal-injury lawyer-he's doing class-action breast-implant litigation; the second one started an architecture firm and is currently a mistress to a Venezuelan cabinet minister; and the third one is starring on a popular Cuban soap opera-she plays Miriam, the jealous schizophrenic. So I would say," Augustine concluded, "that each of them made a wise decision by ending our relationship."
Bonnie Lamb said, "I bet you let them keep the engagement rings."
"Hey, it's only money."
"And you still watch the soap opera, don't you?"
"She's quite good in it. Very convincing."
Bonnie said, "What an unusual guy."
"You feeling better? My personal problems always seem to cheer people up."
She put her head down. "I'm worried about tomorrow, about seeing Max again."
Augustine told her it was normal to be nervous. "I'm a little antsy myself."
"Will you bring the gun?"
"Let's play it by ear." He seriously doubted if the governor would appear, much less deliver Bonnie's husband.
"Are you scared?" When she spoke, he could feel her soft breath on his chest.