None of her clothes seemed sober enough for the occasion so she borrowed a black turtleneck sweater from Ben’s closet. It was the proper color but too tight a fit and she was forced to cover it with the tan all-weather poncho she wore when she drove her little MG convertible at night or on windy days. Then she put on the only black skirt in her wardrobe, an ankle-length party skirt, and studied herself in the mirror.

Two things spoiled the effect she was attempting to create. The shoes she wore were her usual high-heeled sandals, and her long red hair hung loose over her shoulders, making her look what Ben would call too available. Unable to find a ribbon to tie her hair back, she borrowed a shoelace from one of Ben’s oxfords. He’d be burned up when he discovered the sweater and the shoelace missing, but the confrontation would be brief. She would simply remove the shoelace and the sweater, and for good measure the skirt, and after that everything would be fine.

No, not this time.

“Not this time.” She repeated the words aloud into the mirror. “The little beast will have to come crawling to me first and then maybe I’ll consider it.”

She fingered the swelling on her left cheekbone, already beginning to turn blue. It was the first time Ben had hit her and she’d been too surprised to strike back. She could easily have done so. She was taller than he was and nearly as heavy and she’d had a good deal of fighting experience with her two older brothers. Instead of striking back she burst into tears and that proved to be the best defense of all. Ben ran out the front door as if he were escaping a live volcano.

“He’ll go to a bar down the street, have a couple of martinis and then come crawling back here, full of sorries. Well, I won’t be here and I don’t like sorries.”

After a final look in the full-length mirror she went into the living room. Here the stereo was still going full blast the way Ben had turned it so the neighbors wouldn’t hear any sounds of quarreling. She switched it off but the change in noise level was hardly noticeable. Traffic was heavy along the beachfront boulevard, the foghorns had begun to blow from the end of the breakwater and one of the oil platforms, gulls squawked and squabbled among themselves in the wake of fishing boats coming into the harbor with the day’s catch.

She opened the front door at the same moment as Ben was about to enter. He held the key in his hand, pointed at her like a miniature knife. The martinis showed in his eyes and in his voice:

“Well, well. Going somewhere? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. A Hallowe’en party and you’re dressed up as Miss Salvation Army Thrift Shop.”

“Let me past.”

“Not yet.” He pushed her back into the room and shut the door. “Where’s the party?”

“I don’t think you’d like to know.”

“I think I would.”

“Has anyone ever told you can’t hold your liquor?”

“Never. A recent Gallup poll indicated that ninety-nine and nine-tenths percent of the people never heard of me and wouldn’t give a damn anyway. So where’s the party?”

“There is no—”

“You can’t attend a party without an escort. I hereby offer my services.”

“Where I’m going you wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Home to mother?”

“Not my mother.”

“You’re too big to play cute. Whose mother?”

“Figure it out.”

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders as if he intended to shake the truth out of her but she sidestepped beyond his reach. “I don’t like what I’m figuring.”

“Then it’s probably correct.”

“Kay,” he said. “You’re going to see Kay.”

She half expected him to strike her and this time she was ready to defend herself. But instead he walked over to the window. Its only view was the side wall of Longo’s Fish and Chip café next door. A delinquent with a can of spray paint had made an addition, FISH AND BULL CHIPS.

He said, “That’s it, right? You’re going to see Kay.”

“Yes.”

“I’m asking you not to do it.”

“Really?”

“All right, I’m begging you not to do it.”

“That’s a little better but not good enough. Try bribery.”

“Bribery?”

“You know. Money.”

The gas heater in the room hadn’t been turned on yet, and even under the wool turtleneck and the poncho and long skirt Quinn was shivering with cold. But Ben’s face was sunburn-pink and sweat glistened across his forehead. She felt suddenly quite sorry for him and would have melted in his arms if he’d said the right thing. He didn’t. Anyway, business was business.

He said, “How much do you want?”

“Half.”

“Half of what?”

“If we were married I’d get half of everything under community-property laws, wouldn’t I? And we’re as good as married already, aren’t we?” She knew she was on the wrong track but she couldn’t seem to get off it or to brake herself to a stop. “I feel like your wife, Ben. I feel like we’ve been married three and a half months and this is our very first quarrel. And everything will turn out all right because we love each other… Don’t we?”

He stared at her without speaking.

“Me feeling married to you already, maybe that sounds silly to you.”

“No.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?”

“No. I think it’s incredibly preposterously stupid and exactly what I’d expect from you.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like—”

“Married. Jeez, what a laugh. You’re a slut, a tramp who walked in off the street.”

“That’s a lie. You gave me a ride home from the Cielo theater when my car wouldn’t start.”

“Everything else started. You moved in the same night.”

“It was at least a week later.”

“Anyway, you turned out to be a pretty fair screw. Not great, but pretty fair.”

“How would you know, you goddam pervert?”

He came toward her with his fists clenched but she ran out the door and down the narrow alley between the apartment building and Longo’s Fish and Chip café.

Her little convertible was parked in one of the slots reserved for the café patrons. Mr. Longo himself hurried out the rear door as she was getting into the car.

He was angry. “I want you should stop parking in my customer slots.”

“I’ve only been there fifteen minutes.”

“Two hours. I timed you. And never once you bought any fish and chips either.”

“Lay off, will you? I got problems.”

“I got customers.” Mr. Longo wiped his forehead and neck with his greasy apron. “You young chicks think all you got to do is shake your boobs at any man and right away he gives you what you want. Lemme tell you, I seen plenty of boobs in my life and ain’t one of them ever made me compromise my principles, which is business before pleasure.”

“Listen, my boyfriend’s after me to beat me up. Please let me out of here, will you? Please?”

“You gonna come in once in a while, buy some chips?”

“Sure, sure. Every day.” He stepped back and she put the key in the ignition and revved the motor up. Now go fry your balls, you old goat.

Quinn had seen the house only once before, several nights previously. It was late and she and Ben had been drinking. The very size of the house had intimidated her and she wanted to turn around and go home. But Ben kept saying, “Come on, baby,” in the half coaxing, half bullying tone she usually responded to.