It’s three years later. Again, mid-December, Riverside Drive apartment, both on winter break. No, she’s on break; he’s on leave for a year because of a writing fellowship he got. She’ll be on leave the following fall, when they plan to have their second child: not too soon after the first one, they think, and where the two kids will still be close in age. The Hollywood bed’s now in the bedroom for Rosalind; the double bed in the living room for them. They wait till they normally go to bed, around eleven-thirty. She says “I’ll get in the same position I did to conceive Rosalind. I think it worked with her the first time we did it. You remember the article I told you about then,” and he says “Vaguely. By a dermatologist?” and she says “Always a joke. Always funny. Should we start? Don’t want to make it too late.” She gets undressed, sits on the bed and wraps part of the blanket around her. He checks to see that Rosalind’s covered, shuts the bedroom door and the door to the living room, undresses and puts a record on. “Why music?” and he says “We won’t if you don’t want. But it’s beautiful — maybe the most beautiful — and I think sexy. The Chaconne from the second partita. I probably would have put it on the first time with Rosalind, but we made love in the bedroom and the record player was here.” No, we did it in the living room, on the bed Rosalind’s now using, when it was in here. I suppose because it was early evening and we didn’t want to mess up the double bed and the other bed was wide enough for the position we wanted to do it in,” and he says “I could have sworn we did it in the bedroom on this double bed. But the music’s all right?” and she says “Fine.” She gets in the doggy position, pillows under her head, and he gets behind her. “You know what?” she says. “I think I’ll need the lubricant. I’m too dry down there,” and he says “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to deal with that goop, but I’ll get it,” and goes into the bathroom for it, squeezes some on his fingers, applies it to her, wipes his hand with a paper towel, starts the Chaconne from the beginning—“It’s only seventeen minutes long on this recording,” he says. “Gidon Kremer; a terrific performance, though we’ll probably be done by then, or maybe not.” “Don’t forget,” she says, getting in the doggy position again. “Go deep when you’re about to come, keep it in for as long as you can, and let it drop out on its own.” “Got you,” he says. He gets behind her and plays with himself a little. “What are you waiting for, sweetie?” and he says “For me to get a bit more excited. There, that should do it,” and he sticks it in. After, and she’s brushed and flossed her teeth and turned off the record player and all the lights and got back into bed, she says “So, we did everything right and the timing couldn’t be better. And if depth and length of time you stayed in me are the final keys to success, then I think it’s quite possible we have a winner,” and he says “I hope so. Meet you here tomorrow around midnight?” and she says “You see? You do remember me telling you about that article.”
