"For petesake," Sue said, "when you got enough brandy in you things look different. Values change."

"You can ruin a marriage on that thesis."

"Besides." Sue's grimace was like an angler's, pulling frantically on a tugging line; the frown faded, remembering hooked something, "Besides," yanked and reeled in. "she was making all the passes if you recall." The words flopped like a dying fish on the platform of that thought; it was not savory, and in her customary manner Sue returned to the immediate. "But, why'd you buy that lousy painting?"

"You wanted it."

"You say I wanted that Meg too, why didn't you buy her?"

"Exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Last night you said you wanted her. Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Want her?"

"Meg? Of course not!"

"Level with me.

Sue struck an attitude of humor. "Last night everything was nectar and ambrosia and pink and moonlight. Last night...

"Last night you wanted that painting!" Fran threw her covers off; tossed a pajamed leg off the side of the bed. "OK. Today you've regained a more sound perspective. But it can't take away what a fool you've been. You can't take that away. That painting there should be a good reminder."

"But two-hundred and fifty bucks worth!”

"Cheap. when you consider that a good marriage can't be bought.”

"Oh." The word was a humble nod to Fran's ear. "I think I see what you're getting at." Sue spoke softly. "But, Fran, what about our plans for a car?" "What about them?" said Fran. “They haven't been bought off. If you want, we can still have them. It'll just take a little longer, is all."

"Yes," said Sue. "I see." She slipped her finger through Fran's hair "You're so damned sensible." She ventured a glance at the painting. "Lord!" she said, "what a fool I've been."

Fran propped herself up; fluffed the pillow behind her. She pulled the shade cord at the window above them and released it so that the shade zipped up out of sight. The day stretched sunny arms onto the bed and a warm morning wind blew the white tulle curtains gently into the room.

Sue slipped out of bed and made her way to the window opposite. The world outside wavered through her tears. The apartment across the street collapsed slowly, liquidly into corrugated bulges; stood erect then collapsed again. She breathed deeply through a wet nose. "Remember what we used to say, Fran?" she said, "how Sunday was a private kind of day?" how it's not like a weekday, a public, commerce day? It has a certain calm about it-a certain personalness. Used to be our private day." She wiped at her eyes with her wrists.

"Still is." Fran said. She leaned over to plug the electric coffee percolator into the wall. "Now for some coffee," said she. "The best thing I know for removing plaster lining from the mouth."

17