I sat back and let the discussion continue for another few minutes, desperate to figure out a way to stick a pin in all the excitement. Suddenly, a factoid I’d happened upon in a manuscript and remembered for no apparent reason came to me in a flash of absolute brilliance:

“You know, I read that when they autopsied Secretariat, they found that his heart was two and a half times the size of a normal horse’s heart.”

Four sets of eyeballs turned to me and blinked. Not a word was spoken. A second or two passed out of respect for my grand mal seizure of idiocy, I suppose, before they all turned back to Adrienne for another fifteen minutes of unbridled infatuation.

When things finally settled down, when the pears had been devoured, the coffee served and finished, Adrienne yawned. A big, luxuriously sensual yawn; the giant cat, spent. All movement and conversation immediately ceased.

“I’m exhausted,” she purred. “I really must go.”

Terrance practically exploded as he offered—panting, sweating, his life depending on her answer—to drive her back to her hotel.

“All right.” I’ll let you.

At which point he leapt from the table and retrieved their coats from the hall closet as fast as he could, before she had time to change her mind.

Adrienne looked over at Donald, who was (as he did after every meal) feeling his (nonexistent) fat. I knew she was trying to gauge his jealousy level. Had he heard her agree to Terrance’s offer? Apparently not. So consumed was he by his own physique that he seemed not to notice a thing. So when Terrance brought her coat and stood next to her at the ready to help her on with it, she stretched languidly and leaned into him.

“Perhaps we could have a nightcap,” she said seductively. “There’s a lovely bar at the hotel.”

How subtle.

Donald looked up distractedly.

“Which hotel is that?” he asked, suddenly interested. His hands continued to run absently over his soft (fatless) folds of cashmere.

“The Jefferson. Terrance is going to drop me there and stay for a drink.” She held his arm and snuggled into him.

He smiled, swooned.

(Poor Terrance. He would never know what hit him.)

Donald shifted in his seat, glanced up at Adrienne and then over at Terrance. “Great.” His voice was flat. “And you’re off early tomorrow on the shuttle?”

She eyed her witless accomplice. “Maybe I’ll sleep in, take my time getting back.” She flipped her hair again demurely, and inched Terrance toward the door.

We followed.

And Gayle, not wanting to be left behind, lunged for her coat in the closet.

“It was a wonderful dinner,” Adrienne whispered into Donald’s ear as she leaned across to plant a kiss on his cheek. “And Elise—” She looked toward me and through me. “Elise is lovely.”

Donald smiled proudly, and pulled me toward him with a strong arm.