Evans awoke to the sound of rhythmic gasping. He flung his hand across the bed, but Janis wasn’t there. Her side of the bed was still warm. He raised his head slightly, yawning. In the warm morning light he saw one slender, perfectly formed leg rise above the foot of the bed, to be joined by the other leg. Then both legs slowly descended. Gasping. Then legs up again.

“Janis,” he said, “what are you doing?”

“I have to warm up.” She stood, smiling, naked and at ease, confident of her appearance, every muscle outlined. “I have a class at seven.”

“What time is it?”

“Six.”

He groaned, and buried his head in the pillow.

“You really should get up now,” she said. “It shortens your lifespan to sleep in.”

He groaned again. Janis was full of health information; it was her job. “How can it possibly shorten my life to sleep?”

“They did studies on rats. They didn’t let them sleep, and you know what? They lived longer.”

“Uh-huh. Would you mind turning on the coffee?”

“Okay,” she said, “but you really should give up coffee…” She drifted out of the room.

He swung his feet onto the floor and said, “Haven’t you heard? Coffee prevents strokes.”

“It does not,” she said, from the kitchen. “Coffee has nine hundred twenty-three different chemicals in it, and it is not good for you.”

“New study,” he said. It was true, too.

“Besides, it causes cancer.”

“That’s never been shown.”

“And miscarriages.”

“Not a concern for me.”

“And nervous tension.”

“Janis, please.”

She came back, crossing her arms across her perfect breasts as she leaned against the doorjamb. He could see the veins in her lower abdomen, running down to her groin. “Well, you are nervous, Peter. You have to admit it.”

“Only when I look at your body.”

She pouted. “You don’t take me seriously.” She turned back into the kitchen, showing him her perfect, high glutes. He heard her open the refrigerator. “There’s no milk.”

“Black is fine.”

He stood, and headed for the shower.

“Did you have any damage?” she said.

“From what?”

“From the earthquake. We had a little one, while you were gone. About 4.3.”

“Not that I know.”

“Well, it sure moved your TV.”

He stopped in mid-stride. “What?”

“It moved your TV. Look for yourself.”

The morning sunlight that slanted through the window clearly showed the faint outline where the base of the television had compressed the carpet. The TV had been moved about three inches from its former position. It was an old thirty-two-inch monitor, and damned heavy. It didn’t move easily. Looking at it now gave Evans a chill.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “You have all those glass things on your mantel. They break all the time, even in a small quake. Do you have an insurance policy?”

He didn’t answer. He was bent over, looking behind the television at the connections. Everything looked normal. But he hadn’t looked behind his TV for about a year. He wouldn’t really know.

“By the way,” she said, “this is not organic coffee. You should at least drink organic. Are you listening to me?”

“Just a minute.” He had crouched down in front of the television, looking for anything unusual beneath the set. He could see nothing out of the ordinary.

“And what is this?” she said.

He looked over. She was holding a donut in her hand. “Peter,” Janis said severely, “do you know how much fat’s in these things? You might as well just eat a stick of butter.”

“I know…I should give them up.”

“Well, you should. Unless you want to develop diabetes later in life. Why are you on the floor?”

“I was checking the TV.”

“Why? Is it broken?”

“I don’t think so.” He got to his feet.

“The water is running in your shower,” she said. “That’s not environmentally conscious.” She poured coffee, handed it to him. “Go and take your shower. I’ve got to get to my class.”

When he came out of the shower, she was gone. He pulled the covers up over the bed (as close as he ever came to making it) and went into the closet to dress for the day.