Virgil came to the table again and poured more champagne. Frankie waited. Bitterness brewed in Pam’s eyes, but she smiled as if nothing were wrong.

“Question,” Frankie said when they were alone again. “Is it acceptable to pursue your own selfish satisfaction when it causes risk to someone else?”

“Go screw yourself, Sister.”

“Question,” Frankie said. “So it’s okay to risk another’s life or happiness simply because you really want something?”

Pam’s pretty face was a mask of hatred. She lifted her champagne glass. “Is that all? Are you done?”

“No, there was another question,” Frankie went on. “Back then, I couldn’t be sure I heard it right. I figured I was wrong. He couldn’t have said something like that, not to you. But I wasn’t wrong, was I? I heard exactly what he asked you.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

“Question,” Frankie interrogated her, leaning across the table and grabbing Pam’s wrist. “Are you and Jason still sleeping together?”

Pam hesitated only a moment, then freed herself and took another drink of champagne. She spoke without a hint of shame in her voice. She was nonchalant. Casual. As if they were talking about the weather.

“Yes.”

Frankie closed her eyes. She’d known what the answer would be, but she still had to wait for the breath to come back into her chest. “How long?”

Pam shrugged. “Since last fall. And don’t climb on your moral high horse with me. I know about you and Darren Newman.”

“Nothing happened between us. I never touched him.”

“No? You just fantasized about him. A murderer. A rapist. Do you feel good about yourself?”

“Shut up,” Frankie snapped.

“Face it, you wanted Darren more than your own husband.”

“Do you think that gives you the right to sleep with him?”

“I don’t ask you for permission for anything I do,” Pam retorted.

“My God, what a heartless bitch you are. Are you in love with him?”

“Oh, please.”

“Is he in love with you?”

“Grow up, Frankie. Why are you so concerned about love? Did you have a different father than I did? Neither one of us knows what love is.”

“So why did you do it? Spite? Revenge?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Pam said. “Yes, I’ll admit, I loved the idea of humiliating you. Every time I heard another of your success stories, I wanted to say, ‘Oh, really? Well, I’m sleeping with your husband.’ But I don’t overanalyze everything, Frankie, not like you. I wanted it. He wanted it. So it happened.”

“Dad found out?”