Twist by John Lutz Page A

drinking green tea and talking. It struck Fedderman that while he contemplated how it would be having Carlie as a daughter, her contemplations might be altogether different.
    Come back to earth , he told himself. Besides, he was married and she knew that. Probably.
    While she sat across from him, perhaps trying to imagine what he was thinking, he found himself comparing her to Penny.
    Penny , he decided.
    For me, Penny .
    With a certain smugness, he silently congratulated himself on his fidelity. Carlie continued wondering what it was the restaurant put in the sauce that made it taste so good.
    A few minutes after ten o’clock, Fedderman saw Sal and Harold enter the restaurant. They remained just inside the door and studied the menu on an easel for a minute, then turned and walked out. Not once had they looked at Fedderman and Carlie.
    Fedderman knew that if he left her now, she’d be safe.
    And he’d be safe, too.
     
     
    At that same moment, both of them laughing and still with the taste of wine in their mouths, Brad carried Connie Mason across the threshold of her apartment, and another kind of threshold altogether.

    Quinn was lying in bed wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, feeling the cool air from the window unit play across his body. Pearl had wanted to go to bed early. That was fine with Quinn. They were both exhausted from a hard and hot day. He was surprised when she came into the bedroom in a diaphanous gown he hadn’t seen in months.
    She slid into bed alongside him. The gown, short to begin with, seemed to follow reluctantly. Somehow one of the straps had come loose, and Pearl’s right breast was lodged firmly against his ribs. She scooted this way and that, changing position enough so she could kiss him on the cheek.
    “An occasion?” he asked.
    “Does it have to be?”
    “Never.”
    “I just feel like it,” Pearl said.
    “Usually . . .”
    “What?”
    “I get signals.”
    “You mean like dots and dashes?”
    “You know what I mean”
    Her nude breast burrowed more firmly against his side. “You think I’m getting old?” she asked.
    “If you are, I am. And I don’t feel so old right now.” He strained a neck muscle tilting his head forward and to the side so he could kiss her surprisingly cool forehead.
    “It’s Jody,” she said.
    “Huh?”
    “I wouldn’t give up having her around. But there’s no denying she ages me.”
    “Bullshit,” Quinn said.
    “Older every day,” Pearl said. “That’s not bullshit. It’s simple fact.”
    “Better every day,” Quinn said. “Like fine wine, babe.” He kissed her again. “Anyway, Carlie’s a year or two older than Jody.”
    “But she’s your niece, not your daughter.”
    “So?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    And he did. He scooted himself lower on the mattress, turning toward her. A single bead of perspiration was tracking slowly down the breast that had worked out of her night gown, moving toward the nipple. Before it got there, he licked it off with the very tip of his tongue, then kissed her nipple. Her arms snaked around him and he moved a hand between her thighs, feeling her dampness. They kissed with a violence and passion he’d thought they’d lost.
    She helped him work the nightgown all the way off. Then she was gripping him with her hands, helping him mount her, guiding him in.
    Within a few minutes they rolled on the bed, changing position. Pearl wasn’t acting like a woman dreading her advancing age. Or one who placed much value on foreplay.
    Another few minutes and she was on top, rocking back and forth in a frenzy. Riding him.
    Her muscles clenched and she threw back her head so she was staring at the ceiling. He raised his hips so all of him was in her, and she took full advantage.
    She began a lilting moaning that was almost musical, the tendons in her neck standing out in stark relief. Tension tugged at the corners of her mouth.
    The old Pearl , he felt like saying, but knew better, certain he’d be