After a while, we figured, ‘Why pay someone else to make them when we can do it ourselves at home’.’ ‘It looks fabulous,’ Marissa said. She reached down and patted Alan on the backside. ‘I hope you didn’t use all of the whipped cream.’ Alan blushed and they dug into their dessert. A short time later, the dishes were still in the sink and Alan and Marissa were cuddled up on the couch watching TV. Both were full from dinner. Her head was rested against his shoulder, his arms pulling her to him. Marissa ran her fingers absently down his forearm. ‘Can I ask you something?’ Alan said. ‘About last night.’ ‘Sure,’ Marissa’s heart almost stopped. ‘When you said the guy . . . from the insurance company . . . gave you a hate fuck,’ Alan started nervously. ‘What did you mean? Do you feel like that with me?’ ‘Oh, dear god, no,’ she breathed. ‘No, Alan . . . I don’t feel like that with you. He . . . He just wanted to get off with someone and I was there.’ Marissa turned so she was facing Alan.. And around the area were small sofas and chairs scattered in clusters throughout. All of the seating seemed to revolve around the central staircase, but was grouped so as not to impede traffic.The staircase itself was massive, with carved balustrades and steps ten feet wide. They climbed up about twenty feet to a huge landing, with a large picture window facing the terraced back yard and the Sound. The stairs split on the landing, going left and right, leading to wings on either side of the Great Hall.The girls had arranged the seating so we were facing the foot of the stairs, with a special seat for me in the center. Liz and Catherine were on either side and told to coach me as necessary. Nicky handed her grandmother a pad and an ink pen to make notes on my choices.They had brought down Nicky's eight track tape player and inserted the Jackson Five's 'Third Album' for background music. I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything about golden oldies.Helen was first, slowly making her.
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