“Right. I just can’t get over how programmed it all feels. It’s like right now”—Sam looked at his watch, it was almost midnight, any minute now Katie would announce that she had an early flight; he needed to suggest that they go home, but he couldn’t figure out how!—“all across America, diligent men who’ve been studying your sex columns are lighting three candles in their little bedrooms and demanding of women, ‘Does this feel good?’ ‘Does this?’ ‘Does that?’ It’s like three candles and twenty questions.”

“So what you’re saying is”—Katie looked up and her eyes flashed at him—“you don’t want to take me home?”

“Oh,” said Sam, losing his cool, “I do. So much. You have no idea.”