"Son of a bitch is from California," Nicole said in a conversational tone. "I should have expected this when I married him." Then she crossed her arms and

pulled her T-shirt over her head, exposing a lacy bra. "Let's see just how much 'fun and games' he's prepared to put up with."

Turning toward the trees, she shouted, "Hey, Bob! Hurry up! Time for my peaches!" Bob picked up the basket and headed toward her. The closer he got, the slower he walked. I guess the basket was heavy. Or maybe he was afraid he'd trip, since he was staring at Nicole's nice bra. He finally set down the basket.

I just took those paragraphs right out of the middle of this story and stuck them up there so you'd have some idea what you're getting into.

"So what are you reading these days?"

I can't think of anything more innocuous to ask than that. It was just one of those lunches where everybody is kind of tired and people have already finished trashing their bosses or their employees and stopped complaining because it's raining and generally haven't got much to say. So I threw it out.

Nicole looked at me with a funny little smile. "You really want to know?"

Well, maybe not before I asked, but I sure did after she said that.

"Yeah, Nicole," I said. "Tell us what the modern Franco-American artists' community is reading."

"Nancy Friday. You ever heard of her?"

Well, well. "I may have." These are my best friends, but I am a careful person. "Some kind of feminist stuff, right?"

"Women's fuck fantasies," Beth helpfully supplied. Beth is not a careful person. "I read 'em years ago."

Nicole, who is pretty dark, managed to blush anyhow.

"She's written some other things since, you know," she said accusingly.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't look like that if you were reading the book about her mother." Beth may not be careful, but she's not stupid. "My question is, where do you hide them?"

"Hide them?" Nicole asked. "Uh, yes, I see what you mean. I don't exactly hide them, I just keep them in my desk at work. The kids aren't going in there."

"No." Beth shook her head. "I mean from your husband." We all knew each other's husbands well. We did all sorts of things together, and we women hung out with each other when the guys went off to do guy things.

"He doesn't go in there, either." Nicole managed to blush again.

"I figured," said Beth. "I read the good ones out loud to Steve, but I'm the only woman I ever heard of who didn't hide them from her husband."

"I wasn't married yet when I read them," I answered. No use trying to look innocent in this crowd. They knew me too well.

"Bet you didn't keep them around," Beth observed, spearing a piece of pineapple off her plate with a toothpick. "Might frighten Bob." She daintily put the pineapple in her mouth.

"I guess I do hide them from Ken." Nicole looked at Beth. "Why do I do that?"

"What I said. Might frighten the old man. If you read fantasies, you probably have them. Ergo, you're a crazed nymphomaniac he can't possibly satisfy ever and you're probably going to go down to the Combat Zone and pick up three sailors any day now."

"But I'm not!" Nicole looked shocked. "I've been faithful all these years; I have three kids; I'm thirty-two years old. Why would he think that?"

"He wouldn't," Beth said, "but that's what you're afraid of."

Nicole thought about that. You could practically hear all those little gears grinding away. Then she looked at me.

"Do you hide things from your husband?"

"Not lately. Well, not much, anyhow." My turn to skewer pineapple off Beth's plate. I'd already eaten up all of mine. "But I used to. And Beth's right. We're all afraid to shock the poor dears. Even now, when he knows I write sex stories, I'm a little careful with some things. I'm a good editor--I edit."

"Bob knows you write those stories?"

"Sure," I said. "I spent so much time at the computer I had to tell him. Also, I was so proud of the first one I had to show it to him. Especially since it was about the time we went to the opera with Beth and Steve. He laughed like hell. I was afraid he'd blow a gasket, but he didn't. I think he's kind of pleased I'm so literary." I smiled.

"Bet you didn't show him the Sandman one," Beth said.

"I did, too! He thought it was--I quote--'kind of cute.' Warmed him up a bit, I recall." Remembering, I found myself smiling again.

"So I'm the only coward around," Nicole said.

"No, you're not." Beth looked up at me fiercely. "Janey, if you eat that last piece of pineapple I'll jab you with this toothpick." She turned back to Nicole. "We're all cowards. See, we've got these guys. Really fine husbands. We're wives. If we fuck up and they leave, who are we then? Single mothers? Gay divorcees? Yuck. So we're careful. Janey and I are noted for being 'liberated,' but we're not. Not really. I haven't told Steve about the little orgy I attended when I was in B School. No way. I'm supposed to make him happy, not shake him up."

"I don't think Bob ever knew about that football poster I had over my bed in college, and I don't really see any need to tell him I have a thing for linebackers, do you?" I took the pineapple anyhow and she didn't strike. But I hollered at the waiter and made him bring us another plate of fruit along with the check. You never can tell. "Haven't told him about the tight end I had this little arrangement with senior year, either. Never did score a linebacker, though. Pity."

"You have a thing about linebackers and you married that string bean?" Nicole laughed.

"I don't want to be married to one, but I could find some other uses for them," I said.

"Why not quarterbacks? They're supposed to have brains."

"Not required, and they're too little." This time I used my fork on a chunk of honeydew. "Brains I wanted to be married to. Different thing."

"Don't mind little sawed-off oil men, either, do you, dear?" Beth has a wonderful smile. She was referring to her husband, our hard man, who, despite his short stature, is the toughest business man and general hardass I ever have had the pleasure of, uh, meeting.

"If I can't get a linebacker," I said with extreme nonchalance.

Nicole was mystified.

"What the *hell* are you two taking about?"

"Tell us about your fantasies, Nicole," I said, picking up the subject bodily and throwing it as far as I could.

"Well, they aren't linebackers." She started to blush again, but not quite so much. "All right, I'll tell you. I dream of orgies. Just little orgies. With my friends." Then she did blush.

"Us? You mean us? Must be--you don't have any other friends." I sort of giggled. I do not giggle. Except sometimes, and then only sort of...

"I have plenty of other friends." She threatened to throw a strawberry at me. "But sometimes, yeah, I have little orgies in my head with you guys. More with your husbands." Back to blush city. "I never, ever, thought I'd tell that to anybody at all, ever."

"Not even Ken?" I asked innocently...

"Especially not Ken. You think I 'm crazy?"

"See? That's what I mean," said Beth. "How do you know he's not just itching to get his hands on Janey's left boob?"

"You can leave my boobs out of this, " I said.

"OK, I have a left boob, too." Beth stood up, the organ in question modestly covered by her dress-for-success suit. "Think he'd like a little taste? He does look, you know. They all look. I have to go, anyhow. You dear people may be ladies of leisure, but I have a company to run. Maybe we can continue this on the weekend."

We both stood and gave her little cheek kisses and Beth hurried off, her heels clacking on the tiled floor. The Trident isn't exactly an upscale restaurant. When she'd gone, we sat down again and Nicole turned to me.

"I am simply amazed at her. OK, she looks like the sexpot of the century, but she's always so, so together. Sure, she jokes all the time and throws out innuendoes, but I never realized she analyzed behavior like that."

"She is indeed the sexpot of the century," I said, "and she makes money by knowing how people operate. She wouldn't know Shakespeare from Adam's off ox, but she reads all kinds of stuff to keep informed. She probably knows more practical psychology than I do, and I studied the stuff in school."

"Well, she made me think."

"Ah, Nicole." I sort of gazed off into the distance. "These orgies. Have you always had that kind of fantasy? Or is it something recent?"

Nicole thought for a minute. "No, they're fairly recent. That's odd, now that you mention it--ten years ago I'd have thought an orgy was disgusting. Just

sex--no romance. I wonder what's changed?"

"Well, I'm not sure, but I think it's age." I speared another piece of pineapple and poured the last of my tea out of the darling little china pot. "I'm not sure, but I think women get more interested in sex for the sake of sex as they get older. I wish I knew some other people to ask about that. But I'm exactly like you. I still like romance, but now that I'm older the idea of an orgy doesn't exactly turn me off."

"So I'm not a pervert?"

"Either you're not, or we both are," I said. "Nice to have company."

"Well, it's all fantasy anyhow, so I guess it doesn't matter." Nicole took the last strawberry and ate it, then started reaching for her bag. "We have to go, too, we've both got kids to pick up. So let's get out of here. I'm going to think some more as soon as I get the chance. They really aren't that fragile, are they? I mean our husbands. Are they?"

"Nobody's done a study as far as I know, but that's the way they get treated. We're supposed to be icons of purity, and we're just part of the grand conspiracy. Can't rock the boat. Women are mostly wimps. Good combat soldiers, I hear, but frightened to death if they think something might threaten a relationship." I got up and we headed down Newbury Street for our cars.

That weekend all six of us were up at my in-laws' camp in Maine. Beth and Steve, Bob and I, and Nicole and Ken. On Friday afternoon, after we got there and unpacked, we sat around in the shade in what we call the back yard, just

relaxing after a hard week. It was hot. Not like Texas in July, but pretty warm. In New England, you never know what the weather's going to be like, and sometimes we get warm spells in mid-September. We'd already been swimming in the dinky little pool to cool off. My kids and Nicole's were running around doing kid things.

Beth and Steve had just bought this place way to hellangone off in southern New Hampshire. We talked about their new acquisition, and decided to go take a look at it. She runs an accounting firm, and she had just stolen this eighty-acre farm, which included a rundown, beat up old house with a lot of worn-out furniture in it, from a client who was having a tiny cash flow problem. She

relieved him of this albatross at a very reasonable price. The client had intended to make a showplace out of it, but the market made a showplace out of him first. Options are like that, I understand.

"Hey, Alan!" I shouted. This raggedy-looking kid I inadvertently produced eleven years ago was running by, chasing one of Nicole's boys. He skidded to a stop. They toe the line around my house.

"Huh?" he said. He was looking at me as if I were a Spanish Inquisitor. "What you want, Mom?"

"We've all decided to go over to New Hampshire tomorrow to look at the farm Beth and Steve just got," I said. "You guys can come along, or you can stay here with the parents, OK? How about you find out what the rest of 'em want to do and let me know?"

"OK," he said, obviously considering the possibilities. "Lemme talk to Gramma first."

"Sure," I said, "Just let me know. We're going to take picnic gear, and we'll probably be gone all day."

By nine o'clock the next morning all three couples were in our old minivan, heading toward Portsmouth. I'll tell you about that place sometime, too, but not now. The five kids had decided to stay at the camp with the old folks, largely, I expect, because Gramma had promised them a trip to the beach, complete with all the gooey trimmings. Nicole and Ken were delighted--they hardly ever got off anywhere without their three kids. Nicole's folks still lived in Fort Kent, and Ken's were way out west. I'm one of those lucky people with wonderful in-laws quite nearby. Of course, they make us take the kids back after only a day or so, but by then we're usually glad to see the dear things again.

Taking the back roads, we made the trip in about an hour. Bob was driving; Beth, sitting next to him, was the navigator.

"We're getting close. Turn at the house where the white dog barks." That's how you give directions in New Hampshire.

Bob saw the dog and turned, and about a hundred feet later Beth directed him through a broken gate. She made me promise not to tell you where the place is, but you probably couldn't find it even if I did. Lots of white dogs in New Hampshire.

We drove up this rutted road through a broad field of grass that came up to the car windows. Beth said she'd hired somebody to hack down the brush for thirty or forty yards around the house, and she'd had the electricity and the water pump turned on...

"We've only been here a couple of times, so it's still a total mess," she warned us. When we finally got to the house, we were pleasantly surprised to find that it hadn't actually fallen down. The paint was pretty shot, but the big wrap-around porch was only sagging in a few places.

We all piled out of the car and started wandering. Rusty parts of old tractors were half buried here and there, but on the whole the place was kind of pleasant. It was very quiet--you could hear a nuthatch going "quick-quick" in a huge old maple tree not far from the house, and now and then a little breeze made the grass rustle. The sun shone, the air smelled fresh. It had been cool that morning, but it was warming up fast. Not your typical New England day.

"Come on around back," Beth said. "I want to show you the orchard. It's just a lot of old sad-looking little trees, but it's got possibilities, I'm told." Her voice sounded loud in the silence.

So we traipsed around to the back of the house and found the shade. An old wooden picnic table stood there waiting for us. The orchard started around a hundred feet from the back door; maybe ten rows of ten trees, all about fifteen to twenty feet tall and thickly covered with leaves. You could see the odd fruit here and there. Ken and Steve went ahead. Just inside the trees they stopped.

"Hey, Beth," Ken said, raising his voice. "You've got a real orchard here!"

Coming up to him, Beth said, "What do you mean? Of course it's an orchard."

"No, look." He waved an arm at the trees. "Look at those--on this side they're covered with peaches, and on that side there are at least three kinds of apples!"

We all gawked. Sure enough, there was fruit everywhere. None of the trees was exactly loaded, but most of them had a few branches sporting medium-size

peaches or apples, and fruit flies were working on the windfalls.

Beth reached up and picked a peach off a low branch and took a big bite out of it. Everybody stood and watched. You get fruit at a supermarket, right? Not off a tree.

"It's good!" she said, looking startled. Then she took another big bite. Juice ran down her chin and dripped on her chest. She wasn't wearing a shirt, just a red bandanna tied around her breasts, so the juice had a clear field, so to speak. A little river started running down into the valley.

Ken stood there, doing a topographical survey. He glanced over at Nicole and looked back at Beth. Then he put a hand on Beth's shoulder, leaned down, and licked a wide swath right across the top of one breast.

"Yummy!" he said.

"You bastard!" Nicole said, smiling.

"You didn't want me to let that nice juice go to waste, did you?" said Ken defensively, eyeing his wife. Beth started laughing.

"Better corral this guy, Nicole," she said. "I'm for sure going to eat the rest of this peach!"

"Here, have one, Janey," said Steve, pulling a couple of peaches off the tree. "You, too, Nicole." He handed one to each of us. "Eat up!" He winked at Beth. Bob, on the other hand, was studying his peach carefully. I could tell he wasn't at all sure this whole scene was quite what it should be. Me, I go with the flow. Mostly.

I looked at Nicole. She looked at me. Both of us smiled at the same time.

"If you think I'm going to take off my shirt to eat this, you're crazy!" she said. Like me, she had on a designer T-shirt. Hers said Kennebunk Lumber. Mine said Maine Diner.

"Heck," said Steve. "It's warm enough I'd think you'd want to shed as much as you can." He started struggling out of his own T-shirt. It was just plain white. The crisis apparently over, Bob and Ken immediately followed suit. Everybody was wearing shorts, so there was an awful lot of untrammeled male on view. I really like that kind of view a lot.

Nicole came over close to me. "I never saw Beth like this before," she said in a near-whisper. "I mean, we've known all of you for years, but she asked for that. She talks a good game, sometimes, but still."

"Vintage Beth," I said. "You know she's an accountant. For months she has enough numbers in her head to start a calculator factory, then, once in a while, not often, she turns into Beth Bonks Baltimore or something. We're used to it. I'm surprised you never noticed. Don't let it bug you."

All four of us had been hanging around with Beth and Steve since they moved to Boston a couple of years ago. I'd known Beth since we were freshmen in college. Nicole and Ken owned three frame shops, one for the summer people in Kennebunk and two that were open year-round in Boston, so we were able to spend a lot of time together. Ken, the laid-back California artist, and my husband, the uptight history prof from New England, had mysteriously found each other fascinating some years back, and they both thought Steve was something

from outer space and admired him at the same time. I was the only one who knew the real Beth, though, and I saw an enthralling day beginning to develop. Except I wasn't sure "enthralling" was the right word. Alarming, maybe?

Beth continued to eat the peach. The juice continued to drip. When she finished the first one she grabbed another. She managed to contort herself so that her whole chest was soaked in peach juice. Bob and Steve apparently decided to get in the game, so pretty soon she had three guys lapping like Cocker Spaniel puppies at the water bowl, pushing each other away to get in a lick, hollering, carrying on.

"Hey, guys," Beth yelled, "Take it easy!" She dodged away and tugged at her bandanna, which was beginning to slip. Her husband shoved my husband out of

the way and got in a big lick.

"More!" shouted Ken, moving in like a bulldozer.

Nicole stood there open-mouthed and watched. She forgot to eat her peach. Then she turned to me again with a nasty grin on her face.

"I'll bet she's already got at least one bedroom in this old place fixed up with mirrors on the ceiling. And by the way, those are our husbands over there making spectacles of themselves."

"I did notice that," I said. I took a bite of my peach, carefully leaning forward to avoid unseemly drips. Then, gesturing at Nicole's quite respectable chest, I said to her, "You could compete fairly effectively, I expect, if you wanted to get them away from her."

"I think I'll start hauling the picnic baskets around here instead," she said. "Dam' fools!" Then she stalked off around the corner of the house, heading for the car. I followed, finishing my peach on the way--carefully.

We'd barely gotten the lid lifted on the back end of the van when Beth skipped up, still tugging her bandanna back into place. She was carrying a wet towel, and looked perfectly normal.

"Thought I'd help," she said. "There's a lot of this stuff."

"What'd you do with all the tongues?" I asked.

"I think they're still hanging out," she said. "But I have some things I want you two to help me with. The attic is full of old quilts and things, and I want to get them out to air."

"Funny," Nicole said. "The guys were acting like they were looking forward to an early lunch."

Beth laughed. "Relax, Nicole," she said. "The orgy doesn't start until later."

"Hmpf," said Nicole, heading back toward the puppy pound, carrying a laundry basket full of food.

"Kind of uptight, isn't she?" said Beth. "It's the fucking weekend. Time to let down our hair."

"Uh, well," I said, "I think maybe she hasn't had your advantages. Some things take a little getting used to."

"Sure," said Beth. As it happens, Beth does a lovely number in wicked smiles. "But she does have fantasies. I shall personally arrange for her to get a crash course in weekend fun."

"Don't you dare pull anything, you little creep!" I said. "Nicole is a fine upstanding citizen and she's a good friend of yours and mine both."

"Her husband's upstanding, too," said Beth. "Did you notice?"

"Please pick up that bowl of potato salad and proceed to the back yard, would you, dear?" Arguing with Beth is not one of the things I do well. I'm an artist at ignoring her, however.

The gentlemen got sent back to the car to bring around the coolers full of assorted drinks. Beth eyed the orchard for a moment, then remembered she had work to get done.

"Want to look around inside?" she asked. "Some of the furniture is fairly good. And the old wallpaper is still hanging on in some of the rooms. Then we can haul down the quilts." She turned to Steve, who was just coming around the corner of the house with an icebox.

"We're going inside for a minute," she said to him. "Why don't you guys get out some of those lovely K-Mart lawn chairs we bought last week?" Then she and Nicole and I walked up the rickety wooden steps to the back door.

Nicole was mistaken--no mirrors in the master bedroom. It was clean, though, and there was a double bed along with two night tables and a couple of slightly uncomfortable looking antique rockers.

"I got this fixed up last weekend," Beth said. "We have to take off work and camp up here for a few days until we figure out what to do next. The telephone is supposed to be here soon, so Steve can do business while I sort out the contractors."

Two other bedrooms were empty, and the bath was old, but the water and the lights worked. The old flowered wallpaper was pretty. Beth and Steve wouldn't suffer too much, I figured. Each of us took two or three of the old quilts and a pillow or two and trudged back down the stairs into the back yard. Bob and Steve were tossing around a softball somebody found in the car, which tends to be full of kiddie droppings. Ken had whipped out the ever-present sketchbook and was sitting in a lawn chair, drawing away.

Beth took us over to one side of the "yard"--that is, the more or less cleared ground--and we spread the quilts out.

"These probably aren't worth saving," she said, "but a dealer wants to look at them. They're way too heavy to sleep under any time we're likely to be here."

All laid out they looked inviting, colorful and soft, even though some of them were tattered and torn. Some were in the sun, some in the shade. Beth went over to a sunny spot and plopped herself down.

"Probably the last sunny day until next June," she said. "I'm just going to lie here and get fried."

Nicole and I carried over lawn chairs and sat down beside her. It was glorious, just sitting there in the sun, nothing to do, nobody screaming for Mommy and

nothing to clean up. I'd just about relaxed when Ken came wandering over, his sketch book left in his chair.

"Hey, Beth, wouldn't you like another peach?" he said, grinning. "Bob said he was going to bring over a basket full." Bob was headed for the orchard, all right, carrying one of the laundry baskets. He'd emptied its contents--most of our

lunch--onto the table.

Beth just lay there with her eyes closed. Then she opened one eye and looked at Ken...

"If I'm going to be somebody's peachsicle again, I'm going to have company," she said. "Hey, Jane, want to eat peaches?"

"I'm beginning to have the odd feeling that she has something more than eating peaches in mind," Nicole said to me. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Uh, I think you might be right," I said. "She does seem to have, uh, something in mind. Do you have something in mind, Beth?"

"Me?" Beth said. "I just like to eat peaches. And these are good ones."

"Juicy, I noticed," Nicole said.

"Yes," said Beth. "That can pose a problem. Or maybe it can pose an opportunity. We could have a peach feast."

"I'll go help Bob," Ken said, then he wandered off. My husband is your typical workaholic; naturally he'd found a job to do. Ken seemed to be wondering what he'd started. He hadn't started it, but I don't think he knew that.

"This feast she's talking about," Nicole said. "You don't mind your husband sharing in this little feast?" She seemed to have stopped smiling.

"Well... Strange things sometimes happen when we're with Beth and Steve."

"Yeah," said Nicole. "Strange." She rose and marched up to her husband, who was standing a few yards away watching Bob pick peaches.

"Hey," she said, getting just a little too close and looking right up into his face. "Have you noticed anything odd going on here?"

"I suppose you could say that," he answered with a little smile. "Why?"

"Why?" she said. "Why?" Then she took a deep breath. "What I think is that we are about to be treated to a strip tease. Maybe two strips tease. At the very least. Doesn't that bother you at least a little?"

"Oh, hell, Nick," he said. "Don't be so uptight. It's all just fun and games. Nothing to get in a stew about." Nicole stood there staring at him for a long minute. Then she turned away and came back to where I was standing.

"Son of a bitch is from California," she said in a conversational tone. "I should have expected this when I married him." Then she crossed her arms and pulled

her T-shirt over her head, exposing a lacy bra. "Let's see just how much 'fun and games' he's prepared to put up with."

Turning toward the trees, she shouted, "Hey, Bob! Hurry up! Time for my peaches!" Bob picked up the basket and headed toward her. The closer he got, the slower he walked. I guess the basket was heavy. Or maybe he was afraid he'd trip, since he was staring at Nicole's nice bra. He finally set down the basket.

"Here you go," he said, continuing the examination with interest. I didn't blame him; most women don't wear lacy bras under their T-shirts. As a matter of fact, some of us don't wear any bra at all under our T-shirts when it's hot. Like me, for instance. I thought I'd wait and see a couple more cards before I joined this peach-eating contest.

Nicole reached down into the basket and picked out a nice peach with a red blotch on it. Everybody stood still and watched. She leaned forward and took a bite. Then she straightened up and took another bite. That juice sure knew where to fall. My husband looked at me with a little grin. Then he put a hand on each of Nicole's shoulders, leaned over, and licked, as expected. He straightened up smiling.

"Yummy!" he said. Then he leaned over again, his hands still on her shoulders, and gave Nicole a big kiss. She put up with it for a second then jumped backward, slapping a hand off her shoulder.

"Hey!" she said. "I thought we were eating peaches!"

"You're a peach, Sweetie!" Steve said, elbowing Bob aside. "I'll eat you any time!"

My, my.

I knew already that Steve liked tiny little accountants and great big hulks with messy hair, but that persuaded me that he had really catholic tastes.

About this time Ken came over and stood next to me.

"I'm beginning to think you guys have been engaging in various practices we weren't told about."

"You started it," I said. "Beth was just innocently eating her peach, and you started it!"

"Yeah," he said, smirking. "But Beth has never done anything innocently in her whole life."