The Progress of Love

This was all in illustration of the past year in the life of the Great L. P. (Long-Playing Laurence Peter) Vogelsang. A business trip to Australia was indicated by a kangaroo jumping over Ayers Rock, and a can of insect repellent.
    In Between Exciting Trips , and the caption, the Great L. P. Found Time for His Special Interests (a Playboy Bunny displayed her perky tail, and offered a bottle of champagne as large as herself), and for relaxing with His Lovely Family (a cross-eyed girl stuck out her tongue, a housewife threateningly waved a mop, and a mud-covered urchin stood on his head). He Also Considered Taking Up a Second Career (a cement mixer was shown, with an old codger superimposed). “Happy Birthday, L. P. the Great,” said a number of farmyard animalswearing party hats and hoisting balloons, “From Your Many Loyal Fans.”
    “That’s remarkable,” said Laurence. “I can see you put a lot of work into it. I particularly like the special interests.”
    “And the loving family,” said Denise. “Don’t you love them, too?”
    “And the loving family,” said Laurence.
    “Now,” said Denise, “the Fairy Godmother is prepared to grant you three wishes.”
    “You never really need more than one wish,” Peter said. “You just wish that all the other wishes you make will come true.”
    “That wish is not allowed,” said Denise. “You get three wishes, but they have to be for three specific things. You can’t wish something like you’ll always be happy, and you can’t wish just that you get all your wishes.”
    Laurence said, “That’s a rather dictatorial Fairy Godmother,” and said he wished for a sunny day.
    “It already is,” said Peter disgustedly.
    “Well, I wish for it to stay sunny,” said Laurence. Then he wished that he would complete six more steps and that there would be broiled tomatoes and sausages and scrambled eggs for breakfast.
    “Lucky you wished for broiled,” said Isabel. “The top element is working. I suppose it would be too much to ask the Fairy Godmother to bring Sophie a new stove.”
    The noise that they all made in the kitchen getting breakfast must have kept them from hearing Sophie’s voice raised, down at the lake. They were going to eat on the veranda. Denise had spread a cloth over the picnic table. They came out in procession, Denise carrying the coffee tray, Isabel the platter of hot food, the eggs and sausages and tomatoes, and Peter carrying his own breakfast, which was dry cereal with honey. Laurence was not supposed to have to carry anything, but he had picked up the rack of buttered toast, seeing that otherwise it would be left behind.
    Just as they came out on the veranda, Sophie appeared at the top of the bank, naked. She walked directly toward them across the mown grass.
    “I have had a very minor catastrophe,” she said. “Happy Birthday, Laurence!”
    This was the first time Isabel had ever seen an old woman naked. Several things surprised her. The smoothness of the skin compared to the wrinkled condition of Sophie’s face, neck, arms, and hands. The smallness of the breasts. (Seeing Sophie clothed, she had always perceived the breasts as being on the same large scale as the rest of her.) They were slung down like little bundles, little hammock bundles, from the broad, freckled chest. The scantiness of the pubic hair, and the color of it, was also unexpected; it had not turned white, but remained a glistening golden brown, and was as light a covering as a very young girl’s.
    All that white skin, slackly filled, made Isabel think of those French cattle, dingy white cattle, that you sometimes saw now out in the farmers’ fields. Charolais.
    Sophie of course did not try to shield her breasts with an arm or place a modest hand over her private parts. She didn’t hurry past her family. She stood in the sunlight, one foot on the bottom step of the veranda—slightly increasing the intimate view they could all get of her—and said calmly, “Down there, I was dispossessed of my bathrobe. Also my cigarettes and my lighter. My lighter went to the bottom of the lake.”
    “Christ, Mother!” said Laurence.
    He had set the toast rack down in such a hurry that it fell over. He pushed aside the dishes to get hold of the tablecloth.
    “Here!” he said, and threw it at her.
    Sophie didn’t catch it. It fell over her feet.
    “Laurence, that’s the tablecloth!”
    “Never mind,” said Laurence. “Just put it on!”
    Sophie bent and picked