But what was this? Something being draped across his face—a piece of cloth smelling vaguely of soap. The dog blinked open one eye: blackness. What had she done? McGuinn was too pooped to investigate. Like all Labradors, he frequently was puzzled by human behavior, and spent almost no time, trying to figure it out. Soon there were unfamiliar noises from the bed, murmurs between Desie and the young man, but this was of no immediate concern to McGuinn, who was fast asleep and chasing seagulls by the surf.
Twilly Spree said: “I can’t believe you blindfolded him.”
Desie tugged the sheet to her chin. “He’s Palmer’s dog. I’m sorry, but I feel funny about this.”
She moved closer, and Twilly slipped an arm around her. He said, “I guess this means we have to be extra quiet, too.”
“We have to be quiet, anyway. Mrs. Stinson is in the next room,” Desie said.
Mrs. Stinson was the proprietress of Toad Island’s only bed-and-breakfast. She stiffly had declared a no-dogs policy, and was in the process of turning them away when Twilly had produced a one-hundred-dollar bill and offered it as a “pet surcharge.” Not only did Mrs. Stinson rent them the nicest room in the house but she brought McGuinn his own platter of beef Stroganoff.
Twilly said, “Mrs. Stinson is downstairs watching wrestling on Pay-Per-View.”
“We should be quiet, just the same,” said Desie. “Now I think you ought to kiss me.”
“Look at the dog.”
“I don’t want to look at the dog.”
“A purple bandanna.”
“It’s mauve,” Desie said.
Twilly was trying not to laugh.
“You’re making fun of me,” said Desie.
“No, I’m not. I think you’re fantastic. I think I could search a thousand years and not find another woman who felt guilty about fooling around in front of her husband’s dog.”
“They’re very intuitive, animals are. So would you please stop?”
“I’m not laughing. But just look at him,” Twilly said. “If only we had a camera.”
“That’s it.” Desie reached over and turned off the lamp. Then she climbed on top of Twilly, lifted his hands and placed them on her breasts. “Now, you listen,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You told me you wanted to make love.”
“I do.” McGuinn looked outrageous. It was all Twilly could do not to crack up.
Desie said, “Did you notice I’m in my birthday suit?”
“Yup.”
“And what am I doing?”
“Straddling me?”
“That’s correct. And are those your hands on my boobs?”
“They are.”
“And did you happen to notice,” Desie said, “where my hand is?”
“I most certainly did.”
“So can we please get on with this,” she said, “because it’s one of the big unanswered questions about this whole deal, about me running off with you, Twilly—this subject.”
“The sex?”
Desie sighed. “Right. The sex. Thank God I don’t have to spell everything out.” She squeezed him playfully under the covers.
He smiled up at her. “Nothing like a little pressure the first time out.”
“Oh, you can handle it.” Desie, squeezing him harder. “You can definitely handle it.”
“Hey! Watch those fingernails.”
“Hush,” she said, and kissed him on the mouth.
They were not so quiet, and not so still. Afterward, Desie rolled off and put her head next to Twilly’s on Mrs. Stinson’s handmade linen pillowcases. Desie could tell by the frequent rise and fall of his chest that he wasn’t drowsy; he was wired. She switched on the lamp and he burst out laughing.
“Now what?” She snapped upright and saw McGuinn sitting wide-awake at the foot of the bed. His tail was bebopping and his ears were cocked and he looked like the happiest creature in the whole world, even with a ludicrous mauve blindfold.
Twilly whispered: “Dear God, we’ve traumatized him for life.”
Desie broke into a giggle. Twilly removed the bandanna from the dog and put out the light. In the darkness he was soothed by the soft syncopations of their breathing, Desie’s and McGuinn’s, but he didn’t fall asleep. At dawn he rose and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Desie stirred when she heard him murmur: “Time for a walk.”
She propped herself on one elbow. “Come back to bed. He doesn’t need a walk.”