this.â
âHe really has you petrified, hasnât he? Well, he doesnât petrify me!â
âI know, dear, youâre old lion guts, while Iâm the original chicken. Besides, thereâs daddy to consider.â
Peterâs really sexy mouth drooped. Daddy is a subject we try not to kick around. Peter knows how I feel, and he does what he can to respect my feelings, but he never makes a very good job of it. Peterâs trained himself to be the unobtrusive backgrounder, like Winstons and confidential secretaries should, but heâs just too beautifully tall and broad and dark-gold-blond and God-bless-American good-looking and gray-blue-green-eyed (depending on whatâs going on in his glands at the moment) to get by unnoticed all the time; I mean I at least can read him like a traffic signal. There was a big red light coming up.
So I suppose in trying to avoid it I stepped on the gas too hard and blabbed what Iâd never told anyone, especially Peter. And did it the worst wayâjokingly, as if it were some belly buster, the yuk of yuks.
âOh, letâs stop talking about daddy,â I said cutely. âDo you know I have a pet name for my husband?â
Peter reacted as if Iâd shot him. âA pet name? For Nino ?â
âSickening, isnât it?â
âYouâve got to be kidding. I mean, you are, arenât you?â
âNot a bit of it.â
âBut how could you? What is it?â Peter asked grimly.
âItâs a diminutive of Importuna.â
âDiminutive. You mean like Import? Look, Virgin, youâre trying to sidetrack meââ
âShorter than that.â Something kept egging me on. A demon, what else? No other explanation is sane.
âShorter than Import?⦠Imp? Thatâs about as appropriate for him as Cuddles would be.â
âIn between,â I said. You know. Sprightly. A little boy-girl game. How stupid can you get?
âIn between Import and Imp.â Peterâs blond-silk brows made like a frown. âYouâre putting me on. Thereâs nothing between Import and Imp.â
âOh, no?â Big Mouth babbles. âHow about Impo?â
The moment I said it Iâd have bitten my tongue off at the roots if my teeth could have reached that far. Because what it gave Peter was newborn hope. I saw the infant burst into life in his eyes, ready to yell.
âImpo!â he said. âYou canât mean Nino-the great Ninoâis incapable of â¦?â
âItâs not worth discussing,â I said, fast. âI donât know why I brought it up. Donât you think weâd better order?â
âNot worth discussing ?â
âPeter, keep your voice down. Please .â
âMy God, baby, donât you know what this means? If your marriage has never been consummated, itâs not a real marriage. Thatâs grounds for an annulment!â
In his exuberance Peter didnât think to pursue the subject of exactly what my marital life did consist of. Which was just as well. I donât want to think of what might have happened. It turned out badly enough as it is.
So I went through the whole dreary recitation of no-noes. How it didnât matter what I could or couldnât do to have the marriage dissolved, legally, religiously, or any other way if such existedâhow because of daddy Nino had me by the short hairs, now more than ever, because the Gay Controller had not learned his lesson in 1962, the lesson Iâve already paid for with almost five years of my life. Although he hasnât dipped into the till again and played more hanky-pank with the booksâNinoâs made sure of thatâhe hasnât stopped plunging on speculative stocks in the market or betting on long shots at the track, either. He keeps losing and going into debt to the loan sharks and Nino, kind, generous Nino, keeps bailing him out ⦠his suocero , his