"Oh good!" Clare exclaimed. "That's why I called, really. I wouldn't have bothered you at a time like this, but I got so worried, what with this fog coming up and all. It's so hard not to worry, especially after…"

"Yes," Sandi broke in, not wanting to hear Verne's accident mentioned, not wanting to continue this dishonest conversation. She stared dully out of the uncurtained living room window, scarcely hearing Clare's condolences, as it suddenly struck her that any passerby could quite easily have seen into the living room and observed the depraved way Larry Johnson had crouched between her legs and touched her in unspeakable places with his mouth. Oh God, how had it happened, how? She'd never even let her own husband touch her in that perverted way.

Suddenly Sandi's head ached so badly and her legs felt so trembly that she knew she was about to collapse on the floor. "G-good-by, Clare. T-tomorrow…" she stuttered, letting the white plastic receiver fall down with a clatter as she stumbled into a chair. I'm still naked, she thought vaguely, I have to cover myself up. But all she really wanted was for Larry to vanish, and Clare as well – how would she ever face the brunette again? – and everything about this horrible evening to be erased from her memory forever.

"Sandi…" Larry said, stepping toward her, his deflated penis jerking slowly back into semi-erectness. Goddamn Clare anyway, he cursed silently. It's gonna take a fucking miracle now to get her back down on the couch. She looks madder than hell, the stupid bitch!

"Get away from me, Larry Johnson! What's the matter with you?" Sandi hissed in a voice that was more weary than angry. It was hard to sound indignant when her traitorous body was beginning to pulse with lewd desire for the orgasm which had been so abruptly terminated. Inconceivable as it was that she could be feeling like this, it was impossible to deny the wanton waves of erotic lust still shivering in her nearly naked body.