"Maybe I can at least get a rain check." I retired from the field.
"Possibly." She smiled, then gave me a telling glance. "A while ago you said something about another place."
My soundproof chamber?
"Right." I rose. "We're always open around here for travelers on a frosty night." I helped her up. "And for this evening's special introductory offer, there's a hot tub down the hall. Why don't you let me fill it, and you can unwind those muscles for a while, Japanese-style or California-style or whatever. Do you good."
She looked me over a second, then smiled. "Lots of nice, loud running water?"
"Exactly."
Off we went to the Italian-marble bathroom there off the downstairs bedroom. I'd installed that little indulgence for Joanna back during happier times; these days I used it as the world's largest laundry hamper—ripping it out would have cost a fortune. Jo's revenge, I called the thing.
She marched in, took a look about the room, which had one of those big tubs trimmed in redwood, and said it reminded her of a place near Ise. She did at least have the discretion to omit the circumstances of that occasion.
What happened next sort of shook my cool, my being a good Texas lapsed-Baptist. You see, I'd never bought into the nudity-is-wholesome ethic of the Age of Aquarius. Passed me right by. I mean, where's the fun in life without a little forbidden fruit? But Tam just began shucking her clothes. Everything. Kept going till she'd even doffed her little beige knickers, piling everything one piece at a time in a neat heap on the counter. Just like that. While bold corporate raider Matt Walton stood there in terminal astonishment, grasping the edge of the sink as if it were a life preserver. My nonchalance was an Oscar-winning performance.
Now in the attire God gave her, she calmly inquired if I had any bubble bath.