No, pulling the pud would be counterproductive; the frozen squid demanded his attention and wit. The roasted chicken of the night before last had been less than successful, and he recognized it might be time to subdue his creative impulses in favor of recipe books. The chicken itself had been succulent but the oyster stuffing, which reflected his originality, had poured out when he tilted the platter, with a certain sense of the fecal. There was more to oyster stuffing evidently than a can of frozen oysters and their pearlish liquid.

“Oh my god,” Diana had said.

“Hmm, not real cute.”

“It might be good. I’ll shut my eyes.”

“That’s not funny. Something doesn’t have to be beautiful to taste good.”

“Sorry. Give me a leg, a thigh, you can have all of the stew.”

“You’re trying the stuffing, goddammit.”

“Nothing doing, mother. The chicken’s not bad. A little dry but not really bad. You were thinking about sex.”

“B.F.D., Sherlock, how do you know?”

“Your mouth always opens and your tongue probes the air like a big fat snake in a swamp. I bet it wasn’t me on your mind.”

“I’m not particularly fat. Maybe ten pounds over.”

“Twenty by the charts. Let’s hope it wasn’t you know who? Miss South of the Border.”

Isabella had proven a sore point when, after a cocktail party a half dozen years ago, he had confessed his infidelity to Diana. She’d held him as he wept, forgiving him after her initial sorrow. The drama of the moment had been increased somewhat by a confession of her own. Shortly after her college graduation when Warlock had thought of them as sort-of-engaged, she had gone to Chicago to have a model portfolio made by a prominent photographer, a trip financed by her father, who thought of her as the most beautiful little girl in the whole wide world. As Johnny’s tears dried she admitted the photographer had taken advantage of her, and so great was her shock she was unable to resist. Warlock had stomped around the room, then, in a jealous rage.

“You mean he just plumb stuck it in? No foreplay when you could have run for it?”

“No, silly. My eyes were closed. I was supposed to be sleeping or something and he caught me by surprise.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The grim details are he simply stuck his tongue in and it went on from there.”

“That’s always been your weakness, but you could have torn his hair out. Was he real big?”

“Not terribly. About average. Nearly everyone is average.”

“What’s your basis of comparison, Miss Promiscuity?”

“None of your beeswax. I’m not an acre of your property. Was I supposed to keep chaste in anticipation of marrying you someday? And stop stomping around like you’re the champ fuck of the world, you Hitler bastard.”