Barbara turned her head to look at him. "Is that the way it happened with you?"

"No," Ross said, "I always fooled around. Looking, I guess." His fingers moved idly on her shoulder. "What I'm saying-why I think he's out of his mind-I don't think I would've ever fooled around if I'd been married to you."

"You weren't happy? Either time?"

"Not really. I always had the feeling something was missing. I guess because I thought I loved my wives at the time, but never particularly liked them." He watched her sip the champagne. "How is it?"

"Very nice. Good and cold."

"Taste this."

She took a sip of his champagne-cognac because she knew he would insist.

"I like it, but it's a little heavy." She realized he was closer now as he took the glass from her hand.

"I'm not too concerned with Mitch," Ross said, "or how he got involved. I'm thinking more about you. I look at you, I think, what a waste."

"I haven't exactly been scrapped."

"No, what I'm saying, I think you're better-looking now, more attractive, than at any time since we've known each other."

"Trying to grow old gracefully. Like everyone else."

"You're not old." His fingers touched her cheek. "Not a line. Smooth, clear skin… a great figure. God," Ross's eyes raised to her face. "How long has it been since you've made love?"

"Do you want to know the exact day, and hour?"

"Barb, if we can relax and enjoy each other, what's wrong with that? Does it hurt anyone?"

"Maybe some other time, Ross. All right?"

"Barb, I'm not trying to rush you. I'm terribly attracted to you, I want to go to bed with you, and I'm not afraid to admit it." He paused and said, even more quietly, "Barb, I'll make love to you like you've never had it before."

Barbara studied him for a moment before she said, "How do you know?"

"I promise."

"Really, why do you think you'd be better than Mitch?"

"After twenty-two years, Barb, I promise you, a little change, just the fact that it's new and different, can't help but be better."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Come on, don't be clinical. Relax and let it happen."

"I could, couldn't I? No one would know the difference."

"I certainly won't tell," Ross said. He placed his glass on the table. He brought Barbara to him gently, his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her, using a little restraint at first, then showing her how fervent and serious he was as he tried to get his tongue in there.

Barbara turned her head to slide her mouth away from his and Ross moved his hands around to her back, keeping her, holding her tightly to him.

Close to his ear she said, "Ross-"

"Barb, don't say anything. Let it happen."

The strange thing was that she could, easily, close her eyes and let it happen. She felt warm and comfortable; slightly tight. She was in a hotel room with a man. Ross smelled good. He was fairly attractive. If he would keep quiet and not say anything, she could rationalize being here and go to bed with him and maybe, as he said, it would be better than she had ever had it before.

But Ross said, "God, you turn me on," and breathed through his nose and it was like a movie. A not very good movie. She realized she was not part of what was going on. She was an observer, perched up somewhere watching the two of them on the couch.

As Ross's left hand came around to close on her breast, she said, "I was just thinking."

"What?" Ross breathed.

"What Mitch would do if he saw us like this."

Ross pulled away to look at her, his expression grimly serious. "That doesn't do a lot for the mood."

"What do you think he'd do, though?" Barbara asked.

"I don't think he's in a position to do anything. You mean something physical?"

"Whatever," Barbara said. "The thing is, he's unpredictable. You wouldn't think that, would you?"

"I would say he's fairly steady," Ross said. "If he tells you he's going to deliver, he delivers."

Barbara leaned back against the cushion. "He can also be-I was going to say cold-blooded and I can't think of any other word for it. Not vicious or mean, but-"

"Barb, why don't we talk about Mitch later on. Here, have some more." Ross reached for the champagne, filled her glass and raised it to her mouth, helping her with the first sip. "Let's not ruin a nice glow," Ross said.

She took another sip of the champagne as he quickly refilled his own glass. Ross took a gulp, turned to get back to Barbara, but not in time.

"Did you know Mitch was in the Air Force during the war?"

"Barbara, come on."

"I said he was unpredictable, you said he was steady. And we're both right in a way."

Ross took a cigarette out of a pack on the table and lighted it, for the moment resigned.

"Did you know he was in the Air Force?"

"No, I didn't. What was he, a mechanic?"

"See?" Barbara said. "No, he was a fighter pilot. Everyone assumes he was a grease monkey. But at twenty years old he was a first lieutenant. He flew a P-Forty-seven."

"That's interesting," Ross said.

"You know what's more interesting?" Barbara waited a moment. "He shot down seven German planes in less than three months."

"No kidding?" Ross seemed interested now. "He's never mentioned it."

"He also shot down two Spitfires."

"Spitfires?" Ross frowned. "Those are British planes."

"I know they are," Barbara said. "Mitch was returning to his base, I think he was over France. The two planes dove at him firing cannons, thinking for some reason he was German. To protect himself, Mitch turned into them. He fired and with two bursts-he says it was pure luck-he shot down both of the planes."

Ross was intent now. "My God, really?"

"There was a hearing," Barbara went on, "an official investigation. Mitchell explained the situation as he saw it and, because of his experience and record, he was exonerated, as they said, of any malicious intent or accidental blame. The general, or whoever it was, closed the hearing. Mitch stood up and said, 'Sir, I have a question.' The general said, 'What is it?' And Mitch said, 'Do I get credit for the Spitfires?' He was held in contempt of court and sent home the next week, assigned to an air base in Texas."

"I can picture him," Ross said, nodding. "Young and wild."

Barbara shook her head. "Quiet and calculating. He hasn't changed that much since. Always mild-mannered, the nice guy-until someone steps over the line and challenges him."

"Or fools around with his wife."

"He's never had to worry about that."

"It began," Ross said, "with you wondering what he would do if he walked in here."

"Right," Barbara said. "What do you think?"

"Barb-" Ross paused. "I don't think you're quite ready for this sort of thing. Or my timing is bad or something."

"I thought we were going to talk."

"Let's talk some other time," Ross said. "It is getting a little late."