"Janis," he said, "what are you doing?"

"I have to warm up." She stood, smiling, naked and at ease, confident of her appearance, every muscle outlined. "I have a class at seven."

"What time is it?"

"Six."

He groaned, and buried his head in the pillow.

"You really should get up now," she said. "It shortens your lifespan to sleep in."

He groaned again. Janis was full of health information; it was her job. "How can it possibly shorten my life to sleep?"

"They did studies on rats. They didn't let them sleep, and you know what? They lived longer."

"Uh-huh. Would you mind turning on the coffee?"

"Okay," she said, "but you really should give up coffee amp;" She drifted out of the room.

He swung his feet onto the floor and said, "Haven't you heard? Coffee prevents strokes."

"It does not," she said, from the kitchen. "Coffee has nine hundred twenty-three different chemicals in it, and it is not good for you."

"New study," he said. It was true, too.

"Besides, it causes cancer."

"That's never been shown."

"And miscarriages."

"Not a concern for me."

"And nervous tension."

"Janis, please."

She came back, crossing her arms across her perfect breasts as she leaned against the doorjamb. He could see the veins in her lower abdomen, running down to her groin. "Well, you are nervous, Peter. You have to admit it."

"Only when I look at your body."

She pouted. "You don't take me seriously." She turned back into the kitchen, showing him her perfect, high glutes. He heard her open the refrigerator. "There's no milk."

"Black is fine."

He stood, and headed for the shower.

"Did you have any damage?" she said.

"From what?"

"From the earthquake. We had a little one, while you were gone. About 4.3."

"Not that I know."

"Well, it sure moved your TV."

He stopped in mid-stride. "What?"