“I was wondering, Norman, what do you think we’ll look like in forty years?”
“What do you mean, Cristina?”
She thought for a moment. “I mean, will I be gray-haired and wrinkly, like my mother? Will you be bald and have a paunch?”
“I don’t see very well how I could have a paunch. I exercise daily and I eat lots of fruits and vegetables.”
“Yeah, you’ve always been an odd duck. I go back to my original question. Will your schlong be as pretty when you’re seventy as it is right now?”
“Cristina, please. There are people on the other side of the wall.”
“That didn’t stop you twenty minutes ago from moaning out my name at the top of your lungs.”
“That was different. That wasn’t conversation. That was sex.”
“Yeah, the neighbors in the next room will hear one if they hear the other. So what will we look like?”
“I don’t know. But you’ll still be married to Angelo and I’ll still be married to Agnes. So what ‘we’ will look like is an academic question. They’ll be in any picture we’re in.”
Cristina shrank back onto her pillow and lifted the sheets up. Suddenly she felt entirely exposed to this man, her best friend’s husband.
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