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supposed to be so great in bed.”
    “He is,” Barbara said, rushing to her husband’s defense. “It’s not his fault I don’t have orgasms.”
    “Whose fault is it?” Vicki asked simply. Then, she shifted her penetrating gaze to Susan. “What about you?”
    “Time to check on the kids,” Susan said, quickly pushing herself off her chair and disappearing into the living room. “How’s everyone doing in here?” Chris heard her ask the assorted throng.
    “Whitney’s head’s still too big,” Ariel protested loudly.
    “Which brings us back to oral sex,” Vicki said, returning her attention to Barbara and Chris.
    “What? Whoa! How’d we get back there?”
    “It’s the surest way to have an orgasm. Trust me, a patient tongue is better than a stiff prick any day. Your husbands like to do it, don’t they?”
    Chris and Barbara exchanged furtive glances. “Mostly, Ron likes to be on the receiving end,” Barbara admitted as Chris looked toward the floor. The truth was that Tony refused to perform oral sex at all.
    “Who was it who said it’s more blessed to give than to receive?” Vicki asked.
    “Not Ron,” Barbara told her.
    “I think it was Jesus,” Chris said.
    “Are you guys still talking about sex?” Susan asked, coming back into the room.
    “Apparently even Jesus talked about it,” Vicki said.
    “You’re going to burn in hell. You know that, don’t you?” Barbara laughed.
    “We’re all going to burn,” Chris concurred, thinking this was probably true.
    “Something burning?” Tony asked, bounding into the kitchen, kissing Chris on the forehead before heading for the fridge.
    “Is the game over?” Chris watched her husband grab a handful of ice-cold beers from the freezer.
    “Are you kidding? We’ve only just begun to fight.”
    “Who’s winning?”
    Tony winked. “The good guys.”
    “Isn’t that an oxymoron?” Vicki asked.
    “Watch who you’re calling a moron,” Tony warned playfully. “What are you girls talking about in here anyway?”
    “Politics,” Barbara answered with a straight face.
    “Literature,” Susan said.
    “Well, that certainly explains all the hootin’ and hollerin’ going on,” Tony said on his way out the kitchen door.
    The women laughed, watching him leave.
    “Are you going to tell me that sexy man doesn’t like to give head?” Vicki asked. “I think that may be grounds for a divorce. Speaking of which, I have a joke,” she continued almost in the same breath. “Why is divorce so expensive?”
    “Why?” the women asked, waiting.
    “Because it’s worth it.”
    Chris could still hear the women laughing long after everyone had left. She closed her eyes, savored the sound.
    “Chris,” Tony called from upstairs. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”
    “I’m just finishing up with the dishes,” Chris called back, removing the last of the beer glasses from the dishwasher, returning them to their shelves.
    She moved slowly, enjoying the feel of the warmglass in her hands, captivated by the gentle curve of the tall, slender glasses. It had been a good party, she thought. Everyone had contributed something to the dinner—Barbara an eggplant dip, Susan her famous twice-baked potatoes, Vicki a spectacular chocolate mousse, although she’d admitted her housekeeper had made it. And everyone had raved about Chris’s new recipe for prime rib. Just the right amount of garlic, served just rare enough. Not a slice left over, Chris realized, although she had enough salads to last till spring.
    Even if Cincinnati had ultimately lost to San Francisco, 26–21, Tony was happy, having perversely bet on the 49ers and collected $60 from his fellow revelers. There’d only been a few tense moments. “What were you girls really talking about?” he’d asked several times during the evening. “I saw Vicki looking at me kind of funny,” he remarked at one point. “You say anything to her?”
    “Of course not,” Chris told him. “Don’t worry, Tony.