“Crap,” she said. Then she added: “Bay-bee!”

“Oh, shut up,” said Rodney.

“You can give me orders when we’re married,” said Lynn.

“That’ll be the day,” Rodney muttered.

“Yeah,” Lynn repeated. “That’ll be the day.”

Rodney looked at her, legs miniskirted but sufficiently covered, hair natural but just a little too straight to be that way, skin nut-brown and smooth and soft to touch and feel against his mouth and arms and legs, body well built and filled, very noticeable breasts and hips, also good to touch and feel against his body at night. Rodney liked to make love at night, in the dark. He especially did not like to make sounds while making love, although he felt uneasy if the girl did not make any. He was considering whether or not it was dark enough in the room to make love when the telephone rang. Lynn did not move on the sofa and so he answered it himself. It was Charlie Pratt.

“What’s happening, baby?” said Rodney.

“Not much,” said Charlie. “Listen, can you make dinner around seven? We got some other cats coming over at nine we don’t want to feed nothin’ but beer.”

“Cool,” said Rodney. He looked at his watch. “We can make it as soon as Lynn gets herself together.” He glanced over at Lynn still stretched out on the sofa.

“Great,” said Charlie Pratt. “Later.”

Rodney hung up. “What do you have to do to get ready?” he asked Lynn.

“Nothing.”

“You could put on another skirt.”

“Go to hell,” she said, not lifting her head from the sofa. “This skirt’s fine.”

“You could at least comb your hair or something.”

Lynn ignored him. Rodney began to reconsider the sufficiency of the darkness in the room. Then he thought better of the idea. Instead, he went out of the room to shave and take a bath.