“Does he hit you?”

“No. He just … rapes me.”

“Is it fun?”

“Not at first. It’s scary. But then, after a while, when he’s …”

“When he’s got you all … ready.”

Ellen’s eyes moved to his, reading the remark for humor, irony, or cruelty. She saw none. Hooper ran his tongue over his lips and leaned forward until his face was only a foot or so from hers.

Ellen thought: The door’s open now; all you have to do is walk through it. She said, “Yes.”

“Then it’s fun.”

“Yes.” She shifted in her seat, for the recollection was becoming physical.

“Do you ever have an orgasm?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Not always.”

“Is he big?”

“Tall? Not …”

They had been speaking very softly, and now Hooper lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t mean tall. Is he … you know … big?”

“Usually,” said Ellen, and she chuckled. “Huge.”

“Is he black?”

“No. I’ve heard that some women have fantasies about being raped by black men, but I never have.”

“Tell me another one.”

“Oh no,” she said, laughing. “Now it’s your turn.”

They heard footsteps and turned to see the waitress approaching their table. “Is everything all right?” she said.

“Fine,” Hooper said curtly. “Everything’s fine.” The waitress left.

Ellen whispered, “Do you think she heard?”

Hooper leaned forward. “Not a chance. Now tell me another one.”

It’s going to happen, Ellen thought, and she felt suddenly nervous. She wanted to tell him why she was behaving this way, to explain that she didn’t do this all the time. He probably thinks I’m a whore. Forget it. Don’t get sappy or you’ll ruin it. “No,” she said with a smile. “It’s your turn.”

“Mine are usually orgies,” he said. “Or at least threesies.”

“What are threesies?”

“Three people. Me and two girls.”

“Greedy. What do you do?”

“It varies. Everything imaginable.”

“Are you … big?” she said.

“Bigger every minute. What about you?”

“I don’t know. Compared to what?”

“To other women. Some women have really tight ones.”

Ellen giggled. “You sound like a comparison-shopper.”

“Just a conscientious consumer.”

“I don’t know how I am,” she said. “I haven’t anything to compare it to.” She looked down at her half-eaten chicken, and she laughed.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“I was just wondering,” she said, and her laughter built. “I was just wondering if—oh, Lord, I’m getting a pain in my side—if chickens have …”

“Of course!” said Hooper. “But talk about a tightie!”

They laughed together, and when the laughter faded, Ellen impulsively said, “Let’s make a fantasy.”

“Okay. How do you want to start?”

“What would you do to me if we were going to … you know.”

“That’s a very interesting question,” he said with mock gravity. “Before considering the what, however, we’d have to consider the where. I suppose there’s always my room.”

“Too dangerous. Everybody knows me at the Abelard. Anywhere in Amity would be too dangerous.”

“What about your house?”