The cake is fine, please wrap up lunch.

"The cake is fine," you say. "Just wrap up my lunch."

"Have fun!" Mandy says. You hope that perhaps her sister Martha will be at the wedding instead of Mandy.

Errands with the florist and caterer settled, you drive toward home.

Clinging to a steep hillside at the edge of town, your house doesn't have much in the way of yard space. But its advantages include a view of the city lights at night, and no close neighbors. Being the last house on the road, the flat-graded road-end area makes nice guest parking. It's quiet. Your house is the only source of traffic aside from a few people driving to walk on the fire road beyond the road-end and an occasional Saturday night couple parking there for the view.

In fact, you and your husband found out the house was for sale a few years ago when you sneaked away from a boring evening event to play teenager. Hearing the sounds of young lust from the other cars spurred your competitive streak, and turned a lark into a long evening of hot sex that ended only when you couldn't coax your husband into a fourth erection.

You moisten your lips as you round the last turn. It's definitely time for lunch.

You park your sports car in the "hers" garage, rightmost of the three garage doors. When he's working, your husband usually has lunch in his study. You decide to make a picnic of it, even if you'll just be on his office rug. Packing a red and white picnic cloth in a basket next to the lunch from the caterers, you add matching napkins, silverware, and two bottles of Italian lemon soda from the fridge and walk to his study.

Your husband is at work, tap-tap-tapping away at his keyboard. You watch him for a minute, studying his intense concentration, until he looks up. "Oh. Is it time for lunch?" he asks. "Why the basket?"

"Yes, darling, lunchtime," you say. "I know you don't like to go far when you're working, but I thought we could have a picnic right here." You spread the cloth under the window and set out lunch. "What are you working on this time?"

"That screenplay again," he says. "They have a new idea for the lead actress, so I have to touch up her scenes to be a better fit. Beauty? Yes. Star power? Yes. But can she act? Let's not challenge her too much." He nibbles at his lunch.

"Who would you cast in our own little romantic comedy?" you ask him. "Virile, yet slightly misguided youth with every advantage falls for promiscuous, yet good-hearted airhead with free-love hippie mom. Who was that girl in Clueless? Or was it Legally Blonde?"

"You make them sound like Dharma and Greg," he says. "Though at first it seemed like Guess Who's Coming To Dinner. Alicia Silverstone was in Clueless. Legally Blonde had Reese Witherspoon."

"I wouldn't have minded so much if Alex had fallen for Natalie Cole or whats-her-name, the new Bond girl with the Oscar," you say. "What do you think for her mother? That woman in the law series, or the one who was just with Jack Nicholson?"

"That would be Halle Berry," he says. "Now, Camryn Mannheim for her mother? Kathy Bates? Oh, you're wicked dear," he says. "But they are good actresses. I think with all that yoga, she's a little closer to Shirley McLaine. A buxom, big-hipped Shirley McLaine, I grant you." He laughs. "How was your morning of errands?" he asks.

"Fine," you say. "The flowers, the cake, and the catering are well in hand. Not much more for me to micro-manage today. Even if it IS supposed to be the bride's mother doing this, thank you very much," you continue with your hands on your hips. "But I'm afraid 'Debbie Does the Dalai Lama' is not the theme I want for my son's wedding."

"How about the young man you were going to interview? Does he have any potential?"

"Oh yes, that was first this morning. As to acting, I think he has talent, but a ways to go. Worth a chance. As to his other skills, I think that if he demonstrates discretion, a little private tutoring and he'll be more than ready for a referral as an escort. I would love to have him at one of our special parties if we need to match up any extra women."

"That's quite a glowing review," your husband says. "Are you satisfied?"

"Darling," you say. "Sometimes I'm fucked out, but I'm never satisfied."

He laughs. "Do you want to put me through an interview?"

"You've passed with flying colors, dear," you say. "But I wouldn't mind a little check-in to see how your skills are holding up before I rush off to my next engagement."

He looks you up and down. "I think we'd better be ready to call in back-up. But I'd be happy to take a little break now." He stretches his arms and rolls his head around to work out the kinks from sitting. "I'm still in work mode. How about if you pick out a little mood music?"

"That sounds lovely," you say. "Now let's see, what do we have here...unless you would prefer a little home video to get us in the mood?"

He laughs. "Or you could start with the pool boy, and I'll jump in when I'm ready."

"Naughty, naughty!" you say. "Hmmmm...wonder what Oakley's up to today?" you muse, giving him a lowered-eyelids smile, then looking out the window to the pool on the lowest terrace.