“I decided to make a scrapbook of your clippings,” she said as she went into the bedroom. “It’s on the coffee table. I even got a clipping service in case I missed any.”

He didn’t answer. He took off his hat and coat and sat down on the sofa like a guest. She came back wearing her slip, carrying her dress. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know, Karen. You tell me.”

She removed her stockings. “I have nothing to tell you.”

“Then stop treating me as if I were your third cousin from Tennessee.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” She took off her slip.

“A customer, then,” he said frightenedly. “Karen, I didn’t pay for this. If you’d rather do something else, say so.”

She smiled mischievously. “How do you know how a customer is treated?”

“It doesn’t take much imagination,” he said more ruefully than he had intended. Now she put her hands on her hips in a parody of the pinup photographs. As parody it was sharper and more brutal than she could have wanted. They had lost control of themselves, both of them.

“Come on, Joe. Come inside.”

“I want to know what’s going on, Karen.”

“Can’t you guess?”

“I don’t believe this,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

She came closer, her eyes bright. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then come inside.” She hesitated, then turned away from him, giving him no choice but to follow. The bedroom was almost as dark as it was at night. “Now you can kiss me,” she said. He did. Her skin was moist with perspiration, and he could smell it, unhealthy and sour. She saw the bewilderment and unhappiness on his face as he moved away from her.

“You’re lying,” he said. He pushed her away. “You’re lying and you know it. Your clothes are in the other room. Put them on. I didn’t come home for this nonsense.”

“You had it in Europe, you mean.”

“That doesn’t deserve an answer,” he said.

“You weren’t faithful,” she said. He didn’t look at her. “You weren’t,” she repeated, faltering. “Don’t try to tell me you were.”

“I’m not going to try to tell you anything—” He looked into her face. She was frightened to death. “Now I get it,” he whispered. He could hardly see. “Thanks.” He waved his hand at her. “Get away,” he said quietly. “Go away from me.”

“Joe—” She took a step toward him and he pushed her back violently. He regretted it right away. She fell against the door and there was a sharp crack. She stood up holding her elbow, trembling and pale.

“Joe, I’m sorry—”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Get out of here a minute. I have it coming to me—at least.”