"Let's nap early," he said, which meant he wanted to fuck. He glanced at his wrist watch in the cement beside him. "By now Gil's probably screwing that tramp Connie's ass off," he said, grinning.

"Does the idea excite you?" Sherry asked. "Does picturing them doing it together make you anxious to fuck me? I bet you wouldn't mind sticking your wanger in her yourself – for variety's sake, would you? Why don't you go up to Gil's room and watch them fucking and sucking?" She was baiting him in a very hushed voice so that no one could possibly tell the subject of their conversation. Often she did that just to read his reaction. "Fuckee, fuckee, fuckee," she sing-songed.

"You know that's ridiculous," Victor said. "Nobody does the things we do together and we both know it, dear. After you, making love to Connie would be like…" – he groped for words – "… like…"

"Jacking off?" she said.

"Precisely," he said. "I couldn't have said it better."

"Good," she said, not daring to touch him in public. "That's what I wanted to hear. Yes, they're probably just bungling away, like a couple of dogs or horses. No finesse."

Victor nodded. Their conversation sometimes took an entirely different tone when they were in public. Sherry abandoned her little girl role and became the precocious girl she actually was and he spoke frankly just as he would to any other adult. "Yes," he said. "Mere copulation. Sheer getting one's rocks off. Grunt, grunt and it's all over."

"Do you really think they're already doing it?" Sherry asked.

"Who knows?" her father said. "With Gil anything's possible."

Upstairs, in Gil Turner's room, they were not doing it – at least not yet. Gil had just mixed a pitcher of martinis and Connie sat primly across the room sipping her drink. Her legs were crossed and she jiggled the top leg slightly.