Wayne said, “I’ll do it.”

Carlos said, “Daddy won’t see you coming.”

Wayne stood up too fast. His mock-Roman world swirled. Carlos stood up. His shirt was spattered working on soaked.

“I’ll see that you’re covered on it.”

Janice kept a mock-casbah suite at the Dunes. Wayne supplied round-the-clock nurses. Janice stuck to the hotel now.

The p.m.-shift nurse was on the terrace, smoking. The view was half light show, half desert haze. Janice was bundled up in bed, with the air conditioner blasting. Her system was schizy. She either half-froze or half-broiled.

Wayne sat with her. “There’s some golf on TV.”

“I think I’ve had all the golf I can take for a while.”

Wayne smiled. “Touchй.”

“The Hughes meeting. Isn’t that coming up?”

“In a few days.”

“He’ll hire you. He’ll figure you’re a Mormon, and that your father taught you some things.”

“Well, he did.”

Janice smiled. “Who are you meeting with? The Hughes man, I mean.”

“His name’s Farlan Brown.”

“I know him. His wife was the club champ at the Frontier, but I closed her out nine and eight the one time I played her.”

Wayne laughed. “Anything else?”

Janice laughed. It made her cough and sweat. She tossed off her covers. Her nightgown flew up. Wayne saw new slack spots and hollows.

He wiped her brow with his shirtsleeve. She nuzzled his arm and play-bit it. Wayne made a play Ouch! face.

“I was about to say that he drinks and chases women, like all good Mormons. There’s a trinity for men like that. Showgirls, cocktail waitresses and stews.”

The room was ice-cold. Simple talk had Janice soaked. She bit her lip. Her temples pulsed. She touched her stomach. Wayne tracked the circuit of pain.