Pender seemed willing to change the subject. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

On the way out he switched on an outside light that illuminated a section of back lawn behind the swimming pool. In a chicken-wire cage a large raccoon paced like a lion, its small eyes baleful red behind the black face mask.

“Where did you get it?” Adam asked.

“One of the college kids knocked her out of a tree with a pole and covered her with a bread carton.”

“Are you going to keep her here as a . . . tourist attraction?”

“Hell, no, they’re dangerous. A bitch coon like this will kill a dog.” He picked up a broom and poked the stick through the wire, digging into the animal’s ribs. The raccoon turned; its paws like dainty ladies’ hands gripped the shaft, the mouth ripped at it, splintering. “Right now she’s in heat. I’ve got her here to attract the boar coons.” He pointed to two smaller boxes at the fringes of the pool of light. “Traps.”

“What will you do with them if you catch them?”

“Delicious roasted, with sweet potatoes. Delicacy.”

Gaby turned away and walked back inside and they followed her. They were settling down before the fire with fresh drinks when Pauline came in.

“Brrr,” she said, complaining of the night chill. Snuggling next to her husband, she asked Gaby about school. Bruce put his arm around her and pinched a round melon breast once, asserting ownership. Adam looked away. The two women continued to talk, appearing not to have noticed.

The conversation lagged and picked up, sometimes desperately. They discussed the theater, baseball, politics. Mr. Pender envied California because it had Ronald Reagan, muttered into his glass that the G.O.P. had been tainted by Rockefeller and Javits, insisted that the United States should muster its strength and obliterate Red China in a Fourth of July shower of atomic explosives. Adam, by this time fascinated with the enormity of his aversion for the man, could not bring himself to be sufficiently serious about mass insanity to argue.

Besides, he was incredibly sleepy. Eventually, after he had yawned three times, Pender picked up the almost empty bottle of bourbon and signaled that the evening was over. “We usually put Gabrielle in the house with us. But seeing she brought a playmate, we’ve given you adjoining rooms on the third floor.”

They said goodnight to Pauline, who sat pensively scratching the sole of one narrow white foot with sharp fingernails that matched the color of her bloody toes. Pender led them upstairs.

“Goodnight,” Gaby said coldly, evidently to both men. She went into the room without looking at them and closed the door.

“Anything you want, you’ll have to get. Gabrielle knows where everything is. You’ve got the whole goddam building to yourself.”