the sofa, but she backed up, her eyes stormy.
“Marilyn,” she said with contempt. “You told me you were getting a divorce. Let’s go to Vegas, you said. I’ll divorce Marilyn. Six weeks and it’s done, that’s what you said. We’ll get married, Baby. With flowers and a diamond ring. By an Elvis impersonator. Anything I want.” Baby looked enraged. “Was that all a lie?”
“Baby, you know it wasn’t. These things just take a little time,” Big Julie said, trying to sound pleading. He didn’t have to try very hard. He was feeling very urgent. Her cheeks were so flushed—her skin was so pink—he knew from enthusiastic experience how rosy those breasts looked when her skin was flushed, how her nipples stood up like sentinels on parade when she got excited, how they bounced when she was on top. If he leaped across the sofa, he could just about reach her.
“Have you even started the divorce?” Baby demanded, her voice rising. “Have you even looked for a lawyer? Because I’m telling you, Big Julie, if you’re just messing with me—”
Big Julie couldn’t wait any longer. He lunged forward, leaping over the sofa like an Olympic hurdler, unfortunately missing the top bar. His foot caught on the back of the sofa, but momentum carried him onward. As he stumbled over the top, he grasped wildly at Baby, getting a hand on her skirt and falling heavily to the floor as she staggered for balance. The dress tore in his hand, leaving him holding a ragged piece of bright cloth and showing a gaping hole at the waist where the skirt joined the bodice.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Baby shrieked, grabbing the remains of her skirt around her. “You’ve ruined my dress! You’re a brute! I’m going to kill you! And you are never sleeping with me again until I see a marriage license!” She grabbed her shopping bags and stomped into the bedroom, slamming the door.
Still stunned from his fall and clutching the torn piece of Baby’s sundress, Big Julie lay on the floor and watched her go. One thing he knew for sure: no elastic polymers there. Not anywhere. Nothing but bounce, front and rear, on that one.
He heard the bedroom door lock turn.
Silence settled over the suite.
Big Julie lay on the floor, waiting for his breathing to restore to normal. He was fairly comfortable, all things considered. After a second, he heard a phone ring. Then Drake, the bodyguard, stuck his head cautiously around the door.
“It’s your wife,” he said, glancing at the bedroom door. “I think you should take it.”
Big Julie sighed and rolled to his side, struggled to his hands and knees, and finally grabbed the back of the sofa to stand up.
“Not so young any more,” he said as he staggered toward the suite’s den.
Drake wisely ignored this. “Would you like some more coffee?” he asked.
Big Julie tried to get his bearings, shaking his head like a wounded bear. “Coffee?” he said. “Way past that stage. Bloody Mary. And keep ’em coming.”
“Sure thing.” Drake disappeared into the suite’s kitchen and Big Julie went into the den, collapsing on a leather sofa. He glared at the phone with its blinking light. Marilyn. What could she want? He’d left her with the checkbook, the family credit cards, the car, everything she could possibly want.
He picked up the phone, punched in the blinking light. “Marilyn?” he said, trying to sound cheerful and not like he’d just got his lights dimmed by leaping over a sofa after his girlfriend. “What’s going on?”
“We need to talk,” Marilyn said, triggering a sudden feeling of dread in Big Julie. “I’ve been feeling terrible ever since you left Passaic, and I know it’s all my fault. When I said I’d kill you, I didn’t mean it, Julie. I want to make it up to you.”
“Oh?” said Big Julie, wary. “That’s nice. I should be home—”
“So I’m on my way,” Marilyn said. “I’m at the airport in Chicago right now, and I’ll be in Vegas around three-thirty. Can you pick me up?”
“Unhg,” Big Julie gasped, feeling that he was taking that walk on the bottom of the ocean after all.
“I want us to be happy again,” Marilyn said. “Like we used to be. I’ll see you this afternoon, Julie.”
She hung up.
Drake came into the den with the Bloody Mary.
“Bad news?” he asked, glancing at Big Julie’s face as he set down the glass on a smooth leather coaster.
“Marilyn’s coming.” Big Julie grabbed the glass and took