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They fumble whole wheat pasta over TV trays while Risky Business plays on the screen.
Tom is dancing in his underwear.
 She thinks he looks short, but boy can he move. They chew slowly to the rhythm of Tom's pelvis thrusting toward the living room furniture.
He dials a number and Lana drips through the line.
They divide the remaining clam sauce and return to their seats, he on the sofa and she curled in the arm chair. The cat spreads like milk across the coffee table. The kitchen smells like December 26th. She gets up and refills her wine.
The ladies are filtering through Tom's doorway,
with feathered hair and sapped lashes.
The sink hushes everything. He says stop. She says it's fine. He moves to get up and help, but doesn't.
Lana winks in a slanted black hat.
Tom speaks with a Princeton representative.
Steam rises from the kitchen as she scrubs the plates, staring into the white sink.
The two board a train and melt over one another.
Music fills the den. The smell of liquid Pinesol fills the air. She traces the TV image with her eyes.
Tom sweats.
Lana pours over him.
The train speeds through New York City.
She goes downstairs and pulls off her jeans. Her legs sting at the chill of the basement bedroom, and she pulls on black stilettos and stands, sinking into the carpet. Her sweater hangs down, down too far, and she stretches the wool over her prickled thighs.
He comes downstairs to find her, stops in the doorway. She looks up, flushes with color at his surprised expression. He leans against the doorframe and looks amused. She pulls the grey sweater over her head. He chuckles. She flashes an embarrassed grin. He flashes one back. The two stand in silence.
"I'm getting some ice cream, do you want some?" He raises his eyebrows.
She says no thanks. He turns and walks toward the freezer. She remains still, chill bumps burning across the backs of her calves. She looks down at her bare legs atop the tall black heels, her baggy sweater on the floor, her messy bangs.
Tom's frantic voice floats down the stairs as
he discovers his burgled house.
There is no response on the other end,
Only silence at the top of the stairs.
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