"All right," like it was something I had thought about for a long time and finally decided to do. But it wasn't like that at all. It was more a spur-of-the-moment thing. I think it was his tongue.

But after he left, I thought about it and I got scared. I mean if Marleen wanted a divorce, maybe she already had a private detective following him. To get evidence, you know. And if I shacked up with him, maybe we'd get caught and I'd be named in court as the Other Woman, and that would just kill me, let alone what it would do to Greg and Chester.

I thought about it all day and ate a whole can of honeyroasted peanuts.

I didn't feel much like cooking that night, so I made a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs, using three frozen packages. And I cut up some iceberg lettuce and doused it with Paul Newman's salad dressing.

He's such a great actor.

After dinner, Chester went outside, to play I guess, and Greg went into his den to work, as usual. I watched a two-hour television travelogue on Tibet. How about those yaks?

Chester came home and went to bed. I cleaned up the kitchen and then went upstairs to take my shower like I do every night.

While I was drying off, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and wondered if I should have things done. You know, like a tummy tuck, an ass lift, and stuff like that. Also, they can vacuum fat out of your thighs. I saw it on a TV special.

I was doing my nails in the bedroom when Greg came in.

"Did you lock up?" I asked him.

"Doors and windows," he said. "All secure."

We said exactly the same goddamned thing every goddamned night.

What I had done was put on that black see-through lace teddy I had bought from Laura at Hashbeam's Bo-teek. I wasn't going to sleep in it, of course, but I thought it might tickle Greg's fancy, if you know what I mean.

I waited for him to notice, but he didn't even glance at me.

He went into the bedroom for his shower, and when he came out, he was wearing his pajamas. I don't know why but when my husband wears pajama jacket and pants, it looks like a business suit.

I stood up and posed like a model. "How do you like it?" I asked him.

He looked at the lace teddy. "Very nice," he said, and went to the bed to turn down the covers.

"It's supposed to be sexy," I reminded him. , He looked again. "Very attractive," he said, which was an improvement-but not much. He got into bed and pulled the top sheet up to his chin.

I went over and sat on the edge of the bed at his side. "I feel horny,"

I told him. "Please don't tell me you've got a headache."

That made him smile. I turned off the lights, took off my teddy, and slipped into bed next to him, naked as a skinned rabbit. I took his hand and cupped it around one of my lungs.

"Look how big I'm getting," I said.

"I've noticed," he said.

"That's okay with you, isn't it? " I said. "I mean you don't have any objections, do you?"

It was the first I had heard him laugh in a long time. It wasn't much of a laugh, just a little chuckle, but it was something.

"You're very hot," he said in a low voice.

"Hotter than you think," I said. "Do you remember what to do next?"

He laughed again, a little louder this time. "It's like riding a bike," he said. "You never forget how."

"Why don't you take off your suit," I suggested. "And start pedaling."

He got out of bed to do it, stumbling around in the darkness.

Then he got back into bed. Greg is nicely put together.

I ran my hands over his body. "Hey," I said, "what have we here?

Hello, there! Long time no see."

He kissed me a few times. Adequate, but nothing to write home about.

I pulled the sheet off us and kicked it aside. I inched up in bed and moved his head down to my bosom, wanting him to do a Herman.

"Try it," I said. "It's better than spaghetti and meatballs."

Then I stopped coaching him. He did what men are supposed to do. I mean he knew all the moves, even though he was never going to be a mad, impetuous lover. He was so methodical, like he was working his way through a sex manual. Something published around 1810.

Sure I got aroused, I'm not wood, you know, and right then it was thank God for little favors, though I wished he wasn't so polite.

"Am I too heavy on you?" he inquired.

You know, I really felt sorry for him. I mean he was trying.

But when it came to making a woman happy, he had the words but he just didn't have the music.

I wasn't going to take my problem to my brother, Chas has his own troubles. And if I told him Marleen was talking divorce, he wouldn't say, "I told you so," but he'd give me a look that would mean the same thing.

It was a funny feeling, not funny ha-ha but funny strange.

I mean I was a sociable guy, "Herm" to half the population, always ready for party time. But now, with my life falling apart, I couldn't think of a shoulder I could cry on.

I should tell you that I hate solitude. If I had to live like Chas, I'd go nuts. I like to be part of a crowd, everyone knocking back the drinks and laughing up a storm. Suddenly I felt alone, deserted, with no one but myself to talk to. I couldn't handle it, I admit it, and I was afraid of just giving up and crawling into a bottle of Absolut to end my days.

I was really down, dragging ass, when I got this great brainstorm.

There was someone I could talk to, a professional who would listen to my tale of woe and maybe tell me how to get out of the mess I was in.

I phoned Dr. Cherry Noble.

"Is this about Chas?" she asked me.

"No," I told her, "it's about me. I need help."

"That's a good start," she said.

So we set up an appointment. I didn't even ask her what it was going to cost. At that point in time her fee was the least of my worries.

I was afraid she might want me to lie on a couch, which would have been ridiculous, but she didn't even have one in her office.

She sat behind a desk for which I was thankful because I think I told you she's got the greatest legs in the world, and if she sat where I could see them, I'd probably end up making a pass and that would queer the whole deal. I sat in an uncomfortable armchair facing her across the desk.

I told her I was in deep shit with Marleen, that she had said she wanted a divorce and sounded serious about it. I also told her about the anniversary dinner I had missed.

"Surely she doesn't want a divorce because you forgot an anniversary,"

Dr. Noble said.

"Nah," I said. "That was just the final straw. I admit I've been a bad boy. Too much drinking. Too much partying. Too many beds, if you know what I mean."

"You were aware your behavior offended her?"

"I guess I knew it," I admitted, "but either I didn't care or I didn't think it would rile her all that much."

"And what is it you want from me, Herman-absolution? "

"Look, doc, the big problem is this, I can crawl on my knees to my wife, swear I'm going to straighten, up and fly right. And maybe she'll give me another chance.

Maybe. But I know that I won't be able to do it for long.

Sooner or later I'll go back to my old ways because, let's face it, I enjoy living like that. So what I want from you is to be told why I act the way I do, why I'm hooked on drinking and whoring around.

Maybe if I can understand why I do it, I can figure out how to stop permanently."

"Mmm," she said. "You don't want to lose Marleen?

"Hell, no!" I said. "I love that woman, and my little girl, Tania. I guess I haven't proved it to them, but I do love them.

I'm a self-centered sonofabitch, I know that, but I don't seem capable of changing."

"Do you honestly want to change?"

"Honestly I don't. I told you I like the way I've been living. But if changing is the only way I can hang onto Marleen and Tania, then I'll do it. What I want you to do is tell me how."