Wide open wife

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The night was so warm that the door of the bar had been left open. Something vaguely country western-rock was on the juke box, spilling loud sound into the neon-lit night as a man and a woman came out the door.

"My car's over here," the man said, one arm slipping around the woman's waist. She let him lead her, moving voluptuously against his encircling arm, but there were many little clues in their behavior that indicated they had just met – the man's quick glances and the cautious breeziness of the woman.

The car was a large station wagon, the rear two-thirds of it jammed with boxes and cases. "I'm a salesman," he explained as he ushered her into the front seat with almost exaggerated courtesy, then went around and got in the driver's side.

"By the way… I didn't catch your name," the man said as he shut his door and turned to look at the woman.

"I didn't throw it your way," she said coolly. There was a short silence during which the man digested her answer.

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