"This is different, Joe. It took three nights to write."

What could he possibly say? "Go ahead, Nina."

"Ready?" She was so excited. He heard the rustle of paper. Then she took a breath and began to read "Your hands find me in the night, burrow for my warmth.

Lift me, turn me, move me apart.

The language of blind insistence, You speak with a slow tongue on my belly, An eyelash fluttering against my nipple.

This is the moment of raw cries and murmurs when Nothing matters in the vacuum of pa.s.sion But pa.s.sion itself."

He wasn't sure if she had finished. It sounded like a big ending, but he wasn't sure.

"Nina?"

"What do you think?"

"It's...vivid."

"Poetry. A brand-new concept in phone s.e.x."

"Interesting." G.o.d, she's making a career of this.

"Did it arouse you?"

"Definitely," he said. "My loins surge in wild tumescence inside my jeans."

"Stop it, Joe!"

"I'm sorry. Really it's quite good." And maybe it was. He knew next to nothing about poetry.

"I wanted to try something different," Nina said, "something literate. A few of the girls complaineda"Miriam, of course. She's more comfortable with the old sucky-f.u.c.ky."

"Well," Winder said, "it's all in the reading."

"My editor wants to see more."

"You have an editor?"

"For the syndication deal, Joe. What'd you think of the last part? Nothing matters in the vacuum of pa.s.sion but pa.s.sion itself."

He said, " 'Abyss' is better than 'vacuum.' "

The abyss of pa.s.sion! You're right, Joe, that's much better."

"It's a long way from dry-humping on the Amtrak."

Nina laughed. He had almost forgotten how wonderful it sounded.

"So how was your hot date with The Voice?"

"It was very enjoyable. He's an exceptional man."

"What does he do?"

Without skipping a beat: "He markets General Motors products."

"Cars? He sells cars! That is exceptional."

Nina said, "I don't want to talk about this."

"Buicks? Pontiacs? Oldsmobiles? Or perhaps all three?"

"He is a surprisingly cultured man," Nina said. "An educated man. And it's Chevrolets, for your information. The light-truck division."

"Boy." Winder felt exhausted. First the poetry, now this. "Nina, I've got to ask. Does the face match the voice?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way he looks."

"Say no more."

"You can be such a p.r.i.c.k," she observed.

"You're right. I'm sorrya"again."

"He wants to marry me."

"Showing excellent taste," Winder said. "He'd be nuts if he didn't."

There was a brief pause, then Nina asked: "Are you the one who shot the golfer?"

"Nope. But I don't blame you for wondering."

"Please don't kill anybody, Joe. I know how strongly you feel about these issues, but please don't murder anyone."

"I'll try not to."

"Better sign off," she said. "I'm tying up the phone."

"Hey, I'm a paying customer."

"You really liked the poem?"

"It was terrific, Nina. I'm very proud."

He could tell she was pleased. "Any more suggestions?" she said.

"Well, the line about the nipple."

"Yes. An eyelash fluttering against my nipple."

"The imagery is nice," Winder said, "but it makes it sound like you've got just one. Nipple, I mean."

"Hmm," said Nina. "That's" a good point."

"Otherwise it's great."

"Thanks, Joe," she said. "Thanks for everything."

THIRTY-ONE.

Joe Winder held Carrie in his arms and wondered why the women he loved were always a step or two ahead of him.

"So what are you planning?" he asked.

She stirred but didn't answer. Her cheek felt silky and warm against his chest. When would he ever learn to shut up and enjoy the moment?

"Carrie, I know you're not asleep."

Her eyes opened. Even in the darkness he could feel the liquid stare. "You're the only man I've ever been with," she said, "who insists on talking afterward."

"You inspire me, that's all."

"Aren't you exhausted?" She raised her head. "Was I hallucinating, or did we just f.u.c.k our brains out?"

Winder said, "I'm nervous as h.e.l.l. I've been rehearsing it all in my head."

She told him to stop worrying and go to sleep. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"Jail is a distinct possibility. Death is another."

Carrie turned on her belly and slid between his legs. Then she propped her elbows on his rib cage, and rested her chin on her hands.

"What are you smiling at?" Winder said.

"It's all going to work out. I've got faith in you."

"But you're planning something, just the same."

"Joe, it might be my only chance."

"At what?"

"Singing. I mean really singing. Am I hurting you?"

"Oh, no, you're light as a feather."

"You a.s.shole," she giggled, and began to tickle him ferociously. Winder locked his legs around her thighs and flipped her over in the sheets.

They were kissing when he felt compelled to pull back and say, "I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess."

"What mess? And, besides, you're doing the honest thing. Even if it's slightly mad."

"You're speaking of the major felonies?"

"Of course," Carrie said. "But your motives are absolutely pure and una.s.sailable. I'll be cheering for you, Joe."

"Clinical insanity isn't out of the question," he said. "Just thinking about Kingsbury and that d.a.m.n golf course, I get noises inside my skull."

"What kind of noises?"

"Hydraulic-type noises. Like the crusher on a garbage truck."

Carrie looked concerned, and he couldn't blame her. "It goes back to my old man," he said.

"Don't think about it so much, Joe."

"I'd feel better if the governor were here. Just knowing I wasn't the only lunatica""

"I had a dream about him," she said quietly. "I dreamed he broke into prison and killed that guya"what's his name?"

"Mark Chapman," said Winder. "Mark David Chapman."

She heard sadness in the reply, sadness because she didn't remember the details. "Joe, I was only fourteen when it happened."

"You're right."

"Besides, I've always been lousy with names. Oswald, Sirhan, Hinkleya"it's easy to lose track of these idiots."

"Sure is," Winder agreed.

Carrie tenderly laced her hands on the back of his neck. "Everything's going to be fine. And no, you're not crazy. A little zealous is all."

"It's not a bad plan," he said.

"Joe, it's a terrific plan."

"And if all goes well, you'll still have your job."

"No, I don't think so. I'm not much of a Seminole go-go dancer."

Now it was his turn to smile. "I take it there may be some last-minute changes in the musical program."