"I imagine I'll be all right."

They started with Blood Frenzy. Pete watched from a recliner beside the sofa. Larry sat at one end of the sofa, Barbara at the other.

After a while she tossed a cushion onto the coffee table and propped her feet up.

When the movie ended, Pete made popcorn. Barbara disappeared for a few minutes. She came back wearing a knee-length blue robe.

She filled glasses with Pepsi for everyone. Pete separated the popcorn into three bowls.

Before returning to her place on the sofa, Barbara turned off all the lights.

They munched popcorn, drank their sodas, and watched Cameron's Closet in a room that was dark except for the glow from the television screen.

Every now and then Larry glanced at Barbara. She was slumped against the back of the sofa, popcorn bowl on her lap, her legs stretched out, feet resting on the cushion she had earlier placed on the coffee table. When she twisted sideways to set her empty bowl on the lamp table, the robe slipped off her left leg. She wore a pink, diaphanous nightgown. It was shorter than the robe. It didn't reach down much farther than her hip. With a quiet moan of annoyance, she flung the fallen section of the robe back on top of her thigh.

This is sure better than being home, Larry thought.

A few minutes later she took the cushion out from under her feet.

She tilted it against the armrest, swiveled herself around and swung her legs onto the sofa. She lay down on her side, head propped on the cushion. "Let me know if I kick you," she said.

"Maybe I should get out of your way."

"No, that's fine."

Pete looked over. "Oh, here we go. For godsake, Barb, sit up. You won't last five minutes."

"I'm wide awake."

"You won't be. I'm warning you, I'm not gonna rewind. You drift off, it's your hard luck."

"I'm not going to drift off."

"Famous last words," Pete said. "Lar, you catch her dropping off, pinch her."

"Don't you dare." She tucked the robe in between the backs of her legs as if to prevent Larry from reaching up inside it for the pinch.

It was the sort of thing that Jean might do.

The casual warning and precaution hinted at an intimacy that was both comforting and exciting.

Larry used the remote to rewind the few seconds of the movie that he'd missed while complaining to Barbara. She lasted more than five minutes. But not more than ten. Larry realized she was asleep when her legs straightened and one of her bare feet pushed against the side of his thigh. Her touch made warmth flow through him.

He waited for a while, enjoying the sensation. But it made him feel guilty. "Pete," he finally said. "She's zonked."

"Barrr-bra."

She flinched, lifted her face off the cushion. "No, I'm fine."

"You dosed off."

"No, I didn't. I'm fine." Her head settled down again. Her eyes drifted shut.

"Forget it," Pete said. "She can watch it in the morning if she wants to."

"I'm watching," she mumbled.

Larry tried to watch the movie. Her right foot made it difficult. So did the way the top of her robe hung open, revealing most of her right breast through the flimsy pink nightgown. The show on the TV screen was good, but the stolen glimpses were better. Sometimes the foot rubbed him.

Near the end of the movie she stretched out her left leg. Its foot pushed across the top of his thigh and rested on his lap. The pressure there made him squirm. He wrapped his hand around Barbara's ankle and guided her foot down beside the other.

"Huh?" she moaned. "Sorry. Kicking you?"

"It's all right," he said.

Pete looked around, frowning. "Christ, Barb, you're screwing up the movie. Why don't you just go to bed."

"Yeah, maybe I better."

Shit, Larry thought.

She pushed herself up and staggered to her feet. "Night, guys. Sorry I pooped out on you, Larry."

"No problem. Thanks for the dinner and everything."

"Glad you could make it. See ya." She made her way around the coffee table. Larry could see through her robe when she stepped in front of him. Her breasts swayed a little as she bent over and kissed Pete good night.

Then she was gone.

The room seemed empty without her.

During the final moments of Cameron's Closet Larry heard a toilet flush.

Pete removed the tape from the VCR. He grinned over his shoulder.

"Free at last, free at last," he said. "Thank God Almighty, free at last."

"If you want to turn in..."

"Are you kidding?" He pushed the tape of Floater into the machine and started it playing. "Back in a second." He hurried away.

He came back while the screen still showed its warning against unauthorized use of the videotape. He had a bottle of Irish whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other. He sat next to Larry on the sofa. He filled the two glasses. "Party time," he said.

"I'm gonna be wasted tomorrow."

"The cats are away. Gotta live it up."

They watched the movie until their glasses were empty. Pete refilled them both, then pressed the Stop button on his remote. The horror film was replaced by a black and white John Wayne movie. Larry recognized it immediately as The Sands of Iwo Jima.

"Why'd you turn it off?" he asked.

A grin stretched the corners of Pete's mouth.

Fourteen

"How about a little excursion?" Pete said.

"What do you mean?"

"Sagebrush Flat."

"You're kidding," Larry said.

"Who's gonna stop us?"

"I don't want to go out there."

Pete clapped a hand down on Larry's knee. His eyes gleamed with mischief, but he wasn't smiling. He looked like a kid, a kid with a mustache and some gray in his hair and with big plans to pull off a caper. "We take the van. We drive out there, pick up the jukebox, and we'll be back in two, three hours. Barb's zonked. She'll never know."

"She'll know when she finds the thing in your garage."

"Okay, so we'll leave it over at your place. What do you say, Lar?"

"I think it's crazy."

"Hey, man, an adventure. It'll be great. You can use it in your book.

You know, tell all about how the two guys sneak off in the middle of the night to bring the thing back. You can write it the way it happens, you know? Won't have to tax the ol' imagination."

"It's crazy."

"Don't you want the box?"

"Not that badly."

"What about a photo for the cover of your book?"

"Well, that'd be neat, but-"

"So we'll take my camera. Maybe we won't bring the thing back, you know? Maybe we can't even lift it. But at least we'll have some pictures."

"We could do that during the day."

"You know the kind of heat I'd get from Barbara. She'd give me all kinds of shit. How about it?"

"You really want to go now?" The digital clock on the VCR showed 12:05.

"No time like the present. A midnight mission."

The idea frightened Larry. It also excited him. He felt a vibration that seemed to hum through his nerves.

When was the last time, he wondered, that you did something really daring?

If you chicken out, you'll regret it. And Pete'll think you're a pussy.

A real adventure.

"Just like Tom and Huck," he said.

"Huh?"

"Tom Sawyer climbed out his window in the middle of the night and went with Huck to a graveyard to cure their warts. I always wished I could do something like that."

"You got warts, man?"

"Let's go for it."

Grinning, Pete refilled the glasses. "Fun and games," he toasted.

They clinked their glasses and drank.

Pete took his glass with him. He turned on a lamp at the end of the sofa. Then he removed the tape from the VCR, flicked off the television and left the room. Larry sipped whiskey while he waited. It warmed him but didn't ease the thrumming vibrations.

When Pete returned he wore a gunbelt. His .357 hung in the holster against his right leg. Dangling by a strap around his neck was a camera with a flash attachment. "I checked the bedroom," he said in a low voice. "Barb's out like a light."

Pete set his empty glass down. He capped the whiskey bottle and handed it to Larry. "You be the keeper of the hooch."

"We shouldn't take it with us."

"Fuck that. Who's gonna know?"

"If we get stopped-"

"We won't. Calm down, you'll live longer."

They went to the door. Pete turned off the lamp.

They stepped outside. Standing under the porch light, Pete locked the front door with his key.

Larry, shivering, hugged his chest as he hurried toward the van at the curb. A chilly wind pushed at him. He thought about stopping by his house for a jacket. But Pete wasn't bundled up. Pete still wore his short-sleeved knit shirt and blue jeans.

If he can take it, I can, Larry told himself.