“Oh? How so?”

“He said he was a summer kid in Southampton. Spent all his summers there.”

“Working?”

“I don’t know, living with the parents probably. He looks to be the type.”

“What type?”

“Rich. Good family. The Southampton summer type. You ought to know it, for God’s sake.”

“Don’t get angry. I was just asking.”

“I’m not angry. I just said you ought to know the type, that’s all. I mean, you’re the type yourself.”

Ellen smiled. “I used to be. But now I’m just an old lady.”

“That’s a crock,” Brody said. “Nine out of ten of the summer broads in this town can’t do what you can for a bathing suit.” He was happy to see her fishing for compliments, and happy to give them to her. This was one of their ritual preludes to sex, and the sight of Ellen in bed made Brody yearn for sex. Her hair hung down to her shoulders on both sides of her head, then tucked inward in a curl. Her nightgown was cut so deeply in front that both her breasts were visible, all but the nipples, and was so diaphanous that Brody was sure he could actually see the dark flesh of the nipples. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

When he returned from the bathroom, he was tumescent. He walked to the dresser to turn out the light.

“You know,” Ellen said, “I think we should give the boys tennis lessons.”

“What for? Have they said they want to play tennis?”

“No. Not in so many words. But it’s a good sport for them to know. It will help them when they’re grown up. It’s an entrée.”

“To what?”

“To the people they should know. If you play tennis well, you can walk into a club anywhere and get to know people. Now’s the time they should be learning.”

“Where are they going to get lessons?”

“I was thinking of the Field Club.”

“As far as I know, we’re not members of the Field Club.”

“I think we could get in. I still know a few people who are members. If I asked them, I’ll bet they’d propose us.”

“Forget it.”

“Why?”

“Number one, we can’t afford it. I bet it costs a thousand bucks to join, and then it’s at least a few hundred a year. We haven’t got that kind of money.”

“We have savings.”

“Not for tennis lessons, for Christ’s sake! Come on, let’s drop it.” He reached for the light.

“It would be good for the boys.”

Brody let his hand fall to the top of the dresser. “Look, we’re not tennis people. We wouldn’t feel right there. I wouldn’t feel right there. They don’t want us there.”

“How do you know? We’ve never tried.”

“Just forget it.” He switched off the light, walked over to the bed, pulled back the covers, and slid in beside Ellen. “Besides,” he said, nuzzling her neck, “there’s another sport I’m better at.”