“Not true,” Tilda said, exasperated.

“I mean, when you think about what you’re actually doing-”

“Which I don’t want to.”

“-let alone what you sound like-”

Tilda winced. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“-it makes you wonder how anybody can videotape themselves-”

“Oh, God.” Tilda sank down into the bed, trying not to imagine a videotape of the couch.

“-although I’m up for that if you are.”

Tilda sat up. “Are you nuts?”

“Why?” Davy said, startled.

“Do you pay any attention to me at all?”

“Well, I’d like to,” Davy said. “But you have a headache.”

“Not that kind of attention,” Tilda said, warming to her subject, “although I could point out that you don’t pay a lot of attention there, either.”

“Hey,” Davy said. “I paid attention.”

“Yes, to what you were doing,” Tilda said. “Not to me.”

“You were what I was doing.”

“It’s not like you talked to me. It’s not like you made eye contact.”

“My mouth was full,” Davy said, sounding annoyed. “And my head was between your thighs. You want eye contact, you’re gonna have to lean down.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” Tilda muttered, settling back against the pillows.

“Okay, let’s cut to the chase,” Davy said. “You came, right? No faking.”

“Yes.” Tilda stared at the skylights.

“And it was good, right? No small stuff. The real thing.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guarantee I’ll get you there again,” Davy said, exasperated.

“I don’t want you to,” Tilda said. “That’s my point.”

“You don’t want to come.”

“I don’t want to come with you,” Tilda said. “I don’t know you, and you’re a stranger, and you’re dangerous and you’re… down there… and I’m moaning and acting like an idiot and saying God knows what and then you’re inside me and the next day I can’t even look at you.”

“Okay, so we won’t talk during the day,” Davy said, the voice of reason.

Tilda glared at him. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“No,” Davy said, mystified. “I’m trying to be accommodating. It’s not like you’re seeing anybody else who’s doing this for you.”

Tilda turned back to the skylight. “I can do it for myself.”

“Not like I can do it for you,” Davy said, and she turned to him, amazed by his arrogance.

“Hey, I can give myself orgasms that blow me out of bed, thank you. My vibrator’s electric. It plugs in, Sparky. Now can I get some sleep?” She stopped when she realized she’d finally made him speechless. “Look, don’t take it personally-”

“You’d rather have a vibrator than me,” Davy said.

“It’s a good one,” she said, trying to soften the blow. “It’s not battery-operated. It plugs in.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Eve gave it to me for Christmas ten years ago, so I’ve had it a while and…” She trailed off as she watched his face.

“You’re in a long-term relationship with an appliance,” Davy said.

“Hey.” Tilda straightened. “I never have to talk to it, it never makes me feel embarrassed, and it never lets me down.”

“You know, you could say the same thing about me if you weren’t so uptight,” Davy said. “Jesus.”

“I am not uptight,” Tilda said.

“Louise is not uptight,” Davy said. “You are winched to the eyebrows.” He shook his head. “Eve gave you the vibrator. What did Louise give you? A sailor?”

“They went in on it together,” Tilda said icily. “So now you have your answer. Satisfied?”

“Oddly enough, no” He took a deep breath. “Look, this is not a problem. I’m an open-minded man. How about a threesome?”

“What?” Tilda said, outraged.

“You, me, and the machine,” Davy said.

“No,” Tilda said, heroically refraining from throwing something at him. “I do not want a threesome. Now, may I please go to sleep?”

“Honey, I don’t think you ever wake up.” Davy got out of bed.

“Oh, right, because I don’t want you, I must be half-dead.” Tilda slid down in bed. “Your ego astounds me.”

Davy stopped at the end of the bed. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“Sunday,” Tilda said savagely, under the covers.

“With somebody besides me,” Davy said with exaggerated patience.

“That is none of your business,” Tilda said.

“You can’t even remember.” Davy picked his jeans up off the floor. “You’re so damn busy running around being good, you can’t even remember the last time you were bad.”

“I remember the last time you were bad,” Tilda muttered into the blankets.

“Okay, fine.” Davy zipped up his pants and grabbed his shirt. “Where’s your purse?”

“What?” Tilda sat up as he shrugged on the shirt and found her purse on the dresser. “What are you doing‘!”

“Taking twenty bucks,” Davy snapped. “You’ll have it back by morning.”

“That’s my money!” Tilda said, trying not to notice how good he looked with his shirt open.

“You’re going to sleep,” Davy said. “You’re not going to need it tonight. Not unless you tip the vibrator.”

“I knew you couldn’t take that,” Tilda said. “I knew you’d be this way.” When he opened the door without answering her, she said, “Wait a minute, where are you going?”

“To play pool,” Davy said. “I’m going to sink something in a pocket tonight.” Then he slammed the door, taking her twenty with him.

“Men are so sensitive,” she yelled at the door, trying not to think about how good he’d looked, enraged in the moonlight. She punched the pillow he’d given her. She was really tired of his nothing-bothers-me routine, and he was way too dangerous to bed, but…

He was damn fun to look at when he was mad. She could tell he was mad even before he started yelling, just watching the muscles in his arms. And he did have skills.

Oh, hell, she thought. If he’d stuck around for another couple of minutes, he could have talked her into the threesome. Which was why he was so dangerous; he could talk her into anything. The more she thought about him, the madder she got, and the madder she got, the more she tapped her toes on the foot of the bed, until she finally gave up and pulled out her dresser drawer and plugged in her longest-running relationship.

Say what you would about General Electric, it got you where you needed to go without taking your money and slamming the door.


DAVY QUIT when he was a hundred ahead, mostly because he was so mad, he was playing stupid. “That’s what happens when you let women in your head,” he muttered to himself, and his mark said, “Ain’t that the truth.”

The walk back to the gallery didn’t help, and when he was standing in the downstairs hall, going up to Tilda didn’t appeal, either. What the hell was her problem, anyway?

He looked at the basement door. There was something down there that she kept locked up. Well, that was Matilda for you, nobody got in below. “Except me,” Davy said and went upstairs to bang on the door of the room he’d rented.

“What?” Simon said when he finally answered, looking sleepy.

“Take a break,” Davy said. “I need you to open a lock. Louise can spare you for five minutes.”

“Louise isn’t here,” Simon said. “I have high hopes for tomorrow, however. What do you want unlocked?”

“Basement door.”

“Not a problem,” Simon said and went back inside the room.

When he came back with his tools, it took him longer to walk down the two flights to the ground floor than it did to open the basement door.

“It really is a shame you’re retired,” Davy said. “You’re an artist.”

“I know,” Simon said. “But I really dislike prison. So you’re expecting to find something interesting down there?”

“I have no idea,” Davy said. “Let’s go.”

He flipped on the light at the head of the stairs, prepared to encounter one of those pit-of-hell basements that are usually under very old buildings, and saw white cement steps leading down to an immaculate hallway, so brightly lit the place glowed.

“There is definitely something interesting down there,” Simon said.

Davy frowned. “Already you know?”

“Somebody spent money,” Simon said. “Not on this lock, but…” He pushed past Davy and went down the steps and Davy followed him. The stairs ended in a short hall painted as white as Tilda’s bedroom, and Simon stopped to listen. “Air cleaner.”

“It’s cool.” Davy looked around. There were two doors facing each other across the hall and a row of empty bookcases at the end but otherwise the place was empty.

“Temperature controlled,” Simon said. “They’re storing something valuable down here.”

“Paintings?”

“That’s the obvious guess,” Simon said, looking at the door on the left. “Hello.”

“Hello what?” Davy said. “This was supposed to be my good time.”

“This lock they spent money on,” Simon said, bending down.

“Can you get in?”

“Given enough time and enough motive, yes,” Simon said. “I don’t have either. It’d be a bugger. Go seduce the combination out of Tilda. It’ll be a lot faster.”

“You don’t know Tilda.” Davy turned to the other door. “How about this one? Can you pick it?”

Simon reached over and turned the doorknob, and it opened. “The first rule of B and E. See if it’s unlocked.”

“Is there a reason everybody’s busting my chops tonight?” Davy said, and shoved the door the rest of the way open. He flipped on the light and the big room glared back at him, stretching half the length of the building, full of white sheets draped over God knows what, the walls, floor, and ceiling all the same flat white. “This family’s aversion to color is downright scary.”