Twilly grimaced. He got off at the next exit and stopped at a Buick dealership, where he traded in the pickup truck on a 1992 Road-master station wagon. The entire transaction took twenty-one minutes, Twilly making up the difference in cash that he peeled from a wad in his denim jacket. Desie watched, intrigued.

"This is the largest domestic passenger vehicle ever manufactured in the United States," Twilly announced, loading McGuinn into the cavernous rear compartment. "Now you can fart all you want."

And off they went again.

Desie almost asked where Twilly had gotten the money, but it didn't matter. He could've robbed a church and still she wouldn't have wanted to go home. She understood him no better than she understood herself, but she felt unaccountably comfortable at his side. Sometimes she caught him glancing sideways at her – it was a look no other man had ever given her, a combination of naked desire, penetrating curiosity and also sadness. Finally she said: "What in the world is going through your head?"

"How beautiful you are."

"Please."

"OK. How much I want to sleep with you?"

"No, Twilly. There's more."

"You're right. I keep forgetting how complicated I am." He took a slow breath and interlocked both hands at the top of the steering wheel. "What I'm thinking," he said, "is how much I wantto need you."

"That's a better answer," Desie said. "Not as flattering as the others, but a little more original."

"What if it's the truth?"

"And what if I feel the same way?"

Twilly let out a soft whistle.

"Exactly," she said.

"So we're both off the rails."

"A case could be made, yes."

He was silent for several miles. Then he said: "Just for the record, I dowant to sleep with you."

"Oh, I know." Desie tried not to look pleased.

"What are your views on that?"

"We'll discuss it later," she said, "when you-know-who is asleep." She cut her eyes toward the rear of the station wagon.

"The dog?" Twilly said.

"My husband'sdog. I'd feel weird doing it in front of him – cheating on his master."

"He licks his butt in front of us."

"This isn't about modesty, it's about guilt. And let's talk about something else," Desie said, "such as: Where the heck are we going?"

"I don't know. I'm just following this car."

"Why?" Desie said. It was a cobalt four-door Lexus with a Michigan license plate. "May I ask why?"

"Because I can't help myself," said Twilly. "About twenty miles back she tossed a cigarette, a lit cigarette. With piney woods on both sides of the road!"

"So she's an idiot. So what?"

"Luckily it landed in a puddle. Otherwise there could've been a fire."

Swell, Desie thought, I'm riding with Smokey the Bear.

"All right, Twilly, she threw a cigarette," Desie said, "and the point of following her is ... "

Inside the blue Lexus was only one person, the driver, a woman with an alarming electric mane of curly hair. She appeared to be yakking on a cellular phone.

Desie said: "You do this often – stalk total strangers?"

"The woods look dry."

"Twilly, there's lots of dumb people in this world and you can't be mad at all of 'em."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Please don't tailgate."

Twilly pointed. "Did you see that?"

Desie had seen it: the woman in the Lexus, tossing another smoldering butt. Twilly's fists were clamped on the steering wheel, and the cords of his neck stood out like cables, yet no trace of anger was visible in his face. What frightened Desie was the gelid calm in his eyes.

She heard him say, "I bet that car's got a huge gas tank."

"Twilly, you can't possibly go through life like this."

She was digging her fingernails into the armrest. They were inches from the bumper of the Lexus. If the idiot woman touched the brakes, they'd all be dead.

Desie said, "You think you can fixthese people? You think you can actually teach 'em something?"

"Call me an optimist."

"Look at her, for God's sake. She's in a whole different world. Another universe."

Gradually Twilly slid back a couple of car lengths.

Desie said, "I'm an expert, remember? I'm married to one of them."

"And it never makes you mad?"

"Twilly, it made me nuts. That's why I'm here with you," she said. "But now you've got me so scared I'm about to wet my pants, so please back off. Forget about her."

Twilly shifted restlessly. The driver of the Lexus had no clue; her tangly head, wreathed in smoke, bobbed and twitched as she chattered into the phone.

"Please." Desie touched his wrist.

"OK."

He eased off the gas. The cobalt Lexus began to pull away, and as it did a can of Sprite flew out the window and bounced into the scrub. Desie sighed defeatedly. Twilly stomped the accelerator and the station wagon shot forward. He got tight on the bumper again, this time punching the horn.

"Jesus," Desie gasped. "I can practically see her dandruff."

"Well, I believe she finally knows we're here."

The woman in the Lexus anxiously fumbled with the rearview mirror, which had been angled downward for makeup application instead of traffic visibility.

"Moment of truth," Twilly announced.

"I'm begging you," Desie said. Ahead of them, the idiot driver was now frantically jerking the Lexus all over the road.

Twilly wore a wistful expression. "Admit it," he said to Desie. "It would be a glorious sight, that car going up in flames – and her hopping around like a cricket in the firelight, screeching into that damn phone ... "

"Don't do this," Desie said.

"But you can see it, can't you? How such an idea might take hold – after what she's done?"

"Yes, I understand. I'm angry, too." Which was true. And the scene Twilly described would not have been completely unsatisfying, Desie had to admit. But, God, it was nuts ...

The Lexus began to slow down, and so did Twilly. The curly-haired woman clumsily veered onto the shoulder, gravel flying. Desie's pulse pounded at her temples, and her mouth felt like dry clay. She could feel the car shudder when Twilly pumped the brakes. Groggily, McGuinn sat up, anticipating a walk.

The Roadmaster eased up alongside the Lexus. The driver cowered behind the wheel. She wore enormous rectangular sunglasses, which spared Desie from seeing the dread in her eyes.

Twilly glowered at the woman but abruptly turned away. Desie watched him draw a deep breath. She was holding hers.

Then, to her surprise, the station wagon began to roll. "Maybe some other time," Twilly said quietly.

Desie leaned across and kissed him. "It's all right."

"Honey, where's the Tom Petty CD?"

"Right here."

She felt a rush as Twilly gunned the big car toward the interstate. He cranked up the music.

" 'One foot in the grave,' " he sang.

" 'And one foot on the pedal,' " sang Desirata Stoat. She was glad to be with a man who got the words right.

"This is all your fault," said Robert Clapley.

"I beg your pardon."

"You're the one who gave me that shit."

"In the first place," said Palmer Stoat, "it was for youto use, not the girls. That's my understanding of powdered rhinoceros horn, Bob. It's a male stimulant. In the second place, only a certifiable moron would smoke the stuff – you mix it in your drink. You know, like NutraSweet?"

They were in the doorway of the master bedroom at Clapley's Palm Beach condominium, which reeked of garlic and hashish and stale sweat. The place was a wreck. The mirror hung crooked and cracked, and the king-sized mattress lay half on the floor; the silk bed-sheets were knotted in a sticky-looking heap. Above the headboard, the walls were marked with greasy partial imprints of hands and feet and buttocks.