Island of the Sequined Love Nun

wearing one of her conservative Donna Reed dresses. "What happened to you, Beth? How in the hell do you get from 'Here, Cupcake' to the Murdering Bitch Goddess of the Shark People?" He immediately regretted saying it. Not because it wasn't true, but because he'd given away the fact that he knew it was. He braced himself for the rage.
    She moved to the couch and sat down across from him. Then she curled into a ball, her face against the cushions, and covered her eyes. He said nothing. He just watched as her body quaked with silent sobs. He hoped this wasn't an act. He hoped that she was so offended that she would take his murder accusation for hyperbole.
    Five full minutes passed before she looked up. Her eyes were red and she'd managed to smear mascara across one cheek. "It's your fault," she said.
    Tuck nodded and tried not to let a smile cross his lips. She was playing another part, and she didn't do the victim nearly as well as she did the seduction queen. He said, "I'm sorry, Beth. I was out of line."
    She seemed surprised and broke character. Evidently, he'd stepped on her line, the one she'd been thinking of while pretending to cry. A second for composure and she was back at it. "It's your fault. I only wanted to have a friend, not a lover. All men are that way."
    "Then you must not have gotten the newsletter: 'Men Are Pigs.' Next issue is 'Water Is Wet.' Don't miss it."
    She fell out of character again. "What are you saying?"
    "You might have been a victim once, but now that's just a distant memory you use to rationalize what you do now. You use men because you can. I can't figure out what happened in San Francisco, though. A woman who looks like you should have been able to find an easier way to fuck her way to a fortune. The doc must have been a cakewalk for you."
    "And you weren't?"
    Tuck felt as if someone had injected him with a truth serum that was lighting up his mind, and not with revelations about Beth Curtis. The light was shining on him.
    "Yeah, I guess I was a cakewalk. So what? Did you think for a minute that you might try not to go to bed with me?"
    "Other than when I found out that you'd almost torn your balls off, not for a minute." She was gritting her teeth.
    "And how big a task do you think you took on? It's not like you were corrupting me or anything. I've been on the other end of the game for years. I know you, Beth. I am you.
    "You don't know anything." She was visibly trying not to scream, but Tuck could see the blood rising in her face.
    He pushed on. "Freud says I'm this way because I was never hugged as a child. What's your excuse?"
    "Don't be smug. I could have you right now if I wanted." As if to prove her point, she placed her feet at either end of the coffee table and began to pull up her dress. She wore white stockings and nothing else underneath.
    "Not interested," Tuck said. "Been there, done that."
    "You're so transparent," she said. She crawled over the table and did a languid cat stretch as she ran her hands up the inside of his thighs. By the time her hands got to his belt buckle, she was face-to-face with him, almost touching noses. Tuck could smell the alcohol on her breath. She flicked her tongue on his lips. He just looked in her eyes, as cold and blue as crystal, like his own. She wasn't fooling anyone, and in realizing that, Tuck realized that he also had never fooled anybody. Every Mary Jean lady, every bar bimbo, every secretary, flight attendant, or girl at the grocery store had seen him coming and let him come.
    Beth unzipped his pants and took him in her hand, her face still only a millimeter from his, their eyes locked. "Your armor seems to have a weak spot, tough guy."
    "Nope," Tuck said.
    She slid down to the floor and took him into her mouth. Tuck suppressed a gasp. He watched her head moving on him. To keep himself from touching her he grabbed the arms of the chair and the wicker creaked as if it was being punished.
    "That's a pretty convincing argument," said the male voice. Tuck looked up to see Vincent sitting on the couch where Beth had been a minute ago.
    "Jesus!" Tuck said. Beth let out a muffled moan and dug her nails into his ass.
    "Wrong!" Vincent said. "But never play cards with that guy." The flyer was smoking a cigarette, but Tuck couldn't smell it. "Oh, don't worry. She can't hear me. Can't see me either, not that she's looking or anything."
    Tuck just shook his head and pushed up on the arms of the chair. Beth took his movement for enthusiasm