"The last time I wore this skirt, you realize, was ten years ago, during a short-lived stint as a cocktail waitress." J.C. got out of her car and wiggled down the tight black skirt. Ten years ago it had covered her butt.

Times appeared to have changed.

Liam closed the passenger side door and waited as J.C. locked up. She had insisted on driving since she had a better idea of where they were going. Liam hadn't argued.

"I bet you got great tips," he said. For a woman who seemed to follow no visible workout beyond turning the ignition on and off in her ancient BMW, her quadriceps and hamstrings were remarkably toned.

"I got lousy tips. I didn't have enough of a servile attitude."

She stood up straight, and he thrust a stack of bills at her. Benjamin Franklin played a starring role.

J.C. looked down. "What's this?"

"Your stake for tonight's game." He started to escort her up the dimly lit path.

J.C. balked. Leaning back on the three-inch heels of her Louboutin sandals -- red, what else? -- she studied him carefully. "I thought you said I was going to be the prolonged distraction. You said nothing about me playing poker."

"You're the numbers whiz, aren't you? I figure you'll stand a better chance than I ever would."

J.C. still didn't budge. "Wait a minute. I thought all you rich boys ever did at college was drink and play poker?"

"I confined my specialty to drinking."

"Something you want to tell me about?"

"Another time perhaps. Shall we?" He applied pressure to J.C.'s elbow, and they headed to the front door. The house -- typical of those in this wealthy Jersey Shore community, historically known more as a Methodist summer retreat than a mobster hangout -- had a rambling Victorian feel, all weathered cedar shakes, gingerbread moldings and expansive verandas.

Great place for a wedding, J.C. thought.

She stood at the front door, the glow of the simulated gas-lamp illuminating the gold flecks in Liam's hair. He'd thrown a cable-knit sweat over the shoulders of his Izod shirt. It was a very Way We Were moment. A Way We Were moment with the leading man carrying some sort of taping device.

"Let me just get our roles straight. I'm the floozy girlfriend always ready to party, right?" Normally, J.C. chafed at the idea of playing second to anyone -- she'd always led on the dance floor and wasn't about to change -- but, where Joey the Juicer was concerned, she was perfectly happy being a fly on the wall, in a house two blocks away if at all possible.

Liam pushed the doorbell. "And I'm the dumb, preppy lawyer looking to add pizzazz to my otherwise predictable, privileged lifestyle." Cousin Patch had come in handy, lending him the appropriate, pastel wardrobe for the part.

J.C. peered sideways at him. "I thought that was what Viagra was for?"

Liam turned slightly. "We both know that's not necessary, don't we?"

The door opened.

A sullen teenager, struggling to grow what could only euphemistically be called a beard, answered the door. "Can I help you?" he asked, removing an earbud connected to his iPod. The distant sound of reggae filtered across the threshold.

"We're here to see Mr. Ludovisi. My employer, Mr. Armstrong, suggested I take his place tonight because he's under the weather."

The door shut.

Then it reopened.

A stocky, middle-aged man in gray slacks and a Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt stood before them.

"Mr. Ludovisi?" Liam asked.

"Who wants to know?" The man didn't move his Gucci loafers.

"I'm Liam McDonald." While Liam went through the spiel he'd given the teenager, the man eyed J.C., staring at her strappy shoes, lingering on her legs and hips, and ultimately resting on her breasts.

"And you are?" he asked.

"My girlfriend, Juanita Carlotta," Liam answered.

Only the copious amount of MAC mascara she had put on, kept J.C.'s eyeballs from falling out of their sockets. No one, not even Liam McDonald, called her by her given name. She lifted one of her shoes.

Still looking at J.C.'s boobs, Joey asked, "So you're a card player, Liam?"

Liam moved to the side, narrowly avoiding the wrath of J.C.'s stiletto. "To tell you the truth, the lady here is more the player. I prefer to watch."

Joey went cross-eyed as he zeroed in on J.C.'s nipples pressing against the flimsy material of the red camisole. "I know what you mean." He slowly shifted his gaze upward. "So you're a pro, Juanita Carlotta?"

She ground her back molars and ignored the double entendre. "It's more like I watch Celebrity Poker on Bravo, and, you know, I'm just dying to see if I can play half as well as that actress from The Gilmore Girls?"

Joey looked at Liam.

Liam tried to act abashed. "I try to make her happy." Hell, he was abashed. And he couldn't believe what he had gotten J.C. and himself into.

"He's so modest." J.C. winked at Joey. "If you catch my drift." Even in her wildest, stupidest days right out of high school, she had never acted this air-brained.

Liam moaned internally. J.C. was going to kill him when this was all over, he could tell. If they weren't already dead, that was.

Joey stared at them a moment then laughed. "Okay, Jaunita Carlotta." The way he said it made it sound like the stage name of a third-rate stripper. "I'll introduce you to the boys. But don't say I didn't warn you. They don't play nice. Not like I do."

J.C. gulped. She felt suddenly hot. REALLY HOT. Was it possible to be overdressed wearing less clothing than Barbie At The Beach?

Joey ushered them to a large family room with a bank of windows opening on the water. A blue-and-white nautical theme predominated with giant fish mounted on the wall and a model of clipper ships teetering on a coffee table.

"Liam, why don't you and me go over there and have a drink and watch." He pointed toward the bar, which was outlined in shellacked rope.

J.C. felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

Liam wasn't all that more confident. Not that Joey the Juicer wasn't easy to talk to. Or rather listen to. But instead of confessing to all the nefarious money laundering deals he was engaged in and how the Land for Generations had been set up to bilk unwitting WASPy residents -- all right, that would have been too easy -- Joey seemed more preoccupied with his teenage son's lack of focus.

As Joey poured himself yet another Absolut on the rocks -- Liam stuck strictly to "seltza" as Joey referred to it -- he appeared to take some solace in Liam's assurances that he himself had drifted for much of his life, wandering without any real purpose, unclear of his goals.

"The kid tells me he needs separation. What's separation? In my day, separation was something in between the concrete slabs on the highway?" Joey moaned. He dispensed with the ice by the third drink.

"Well, I know the feeling of having to get away from the family." Liam swallowed. Perhaps that had been a poor choice of words? He carried on quickly. "I mean, the McDonald name can be a pretty tough act to live up to sometimes. If you want, I can give you a contact with a mining company in Western Australia. I'm sure they'd love to have an able-bodied teenager willing to work for slave wages."

So Joey got a contact for putting his son on the straight-and-narrow.

But Liam got nothing -- except a recommendation on where to get good fried calamari. If he was going to obtain any incriminating information, the only remaining option was to be more direct. "So Baldy tells me you head a land preservation group, Land for Generations." Liam popped a handful of peanuts in his mouth.

Joey didn't respond right away. He was too busy watching the poker game. J.C. had her back to the bar, and she was leaning toward a barrel-chested man next to her. He wore a gold Rolex on his wrist, roughly the diameter of her waist. The sound of her laughter floated across the den.

Joey took a large gulp of vodka and turned back to Liam. "That's something you'd have to talk to my accountant about. He makes all my investment decisions. I just operate a string of car washes." Then he pointed to the bank of windows overlooking the water. "Do you do any deep-sea fishing?"

End of discussion as far as business was concerned.

Maybe it was time to cut their losses -- Liam tried not to think of the cash he'd given J.C. He'd just about wiped out his checking account. "Hey, honey," Liam called out. "I think it's time to call it a night." He rested his "seltza" on an anchor coaster.

J.C. glanced around. The spaghetti strap of her top slipped down her arm. Liam could tell from the look in her eyes that she was wondering if he'd been successful. Everyone else seemed to be wondering what else was going to slip.

He gave her a tight smile.

She swiveled back to her fellow card players and slipped up the strap. There was a collective sigh from around the table. "Looks like I better cash out, fellas." J.C. leaned over to scoop up her chips.

This time there was a gasp.

Then she clipped her cocktail purse shut and joined Liam at the bar. She walked her fingers up Liam's arm. Long red nails would have been a good touch, but she hadn't had time to stop at CVS for Lee's Press-Ons. "So soon?" she pouted.

"It's a long drive home, and I've got work tomorrow." Liam nuzzled her cheek. "Sorry, no luck," he whispered in her ear.

She set her jaw. Since when did she start relying on luck?

"Did you talk to Mr. Ludovisi about selling off the family estate?" She puffed her ruby-red lips forward. "The old place is so drafty, and it's got like a zillion bedrooms, and you said Mr. Ludovisi might be interested in buying property around Grantham." She paused and blinked. "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" She rubbed her hip against Liam's thigh.

Joey lowered his glass carefully. He had just discovered J.C.'s heart tattoo. The spade wasn't far behind.

"Give it a rest," Liam whispered in her ear. "Sometimes you don't always get what you want."

Truer words were never spoken, but that still didn't mean J.C. was throwing in the towel. "But you promised you'd build me a new house with his and her whirlpool baths and a surround-sound system in every room, and, and..." J.C. wracked her brain, trying to remember the details of a million-dollar house that Phoebe had just sold. "...and a Palladian window in the garage."

Liam looked at her like she'd just flipped her lid. "Excuse me, but why would anyone need a Palladian window in the garage?"

"Why would anyone need a Palladian window in the garage?" J.C. repeated, waving her hands at Liam. Work with me here. But for once the man who had a way with words was at a loss.

She turned to Joey, but he was fixated on the spade, diamond and club that had come into view with all her wild gesticulating.

She scowled. Somehow she would keep this conversation going. "I don't know about anyone, but I need it to look at my BMW."

Joey suddenly perked up. "What? Did you say you have a BMW?"

"I do." She gulped. "A nineteen sixty-eight 2002. And it's burgundy."

He grabbed J.C.'s hand in his. There was a passion in his eyes. "A sixty-eight burgundy. That was my first Beemer, too." Tearing up, he dropped her hand and reached for his vodka. After a pensive swig, he turned back to J.C. "You wouldn't mind showing an old man like me your car sometime, if you are in the area, that is?"

J.C. thrust out her pelvis, causing Joey and Liam to swallow.

"Well, Mr. Ludovisi," she purred, drawing out the final two syllables into a languorous version of easy, "not only are you not the least bit old, you are also one lucky man." This from a woman who didn't believe in luck. "Because Liam, being the secure man that he is-" she patted his chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart "-let me drive here tonight."

"Dare I hope?" Joey was looking at her for salvation.

"Yes, it's in the driveway."

"Shall we?" Joey practically propelled them out the front door. Even under the subdued pseudo-gas lighting, J.C. was sure she saw that Joey now possessed a boner the size of a cooked Ballpark frank.

Yes, he was definitely after more than salvation.

"I'm surprised Baldy never mentioned your passion for BMWs," Liam commented. He was definitely the third wheel in this production, standing respectfully to the side while Joey and J.C. ducked their heads under the open hood of the car.

Joey waved his hand around. "Don't you just love the way in a car like this, that when you look under the hood you can actually see the engine?" He barely glanced at Liam. "Baldy, that guy never remembers anything, let alone listen to anyone."

"I know," J.C. agreed, bending over and resting on her elbows. For once, Joey's eyes were directed somewhere other than her boobs. "The new cars are stuffed with plastic and metal crap."

"I know what you mean about him not listening." Liam stood by the front grillwork. "I suggested to Baldy that the firm might want to consider putting together some preservation deal for the family estate - all very PC these day and good publicity to boot -- but he never responded."

Joey pushed Liam back with his hand and inspected the engine from the front. "Juanita Carlotta, I must tell you how impressed I am with the way you keep the engine so very clean. You obviously take good care of it."

"Gee, thanks." Nothing like a compliment from a man reputed to have ordered the killing of at least ten people.

"You change your oil pretty often then?" Joey asked.

"I tell you, if the Borden deal hadn't landed on his lap, I doubt Baldy would have ever followed up with that either!" Liam said with disgust.

"Every three months," J.C. replied. "And I do it myself."

Joey nodded his approval. "I respect that in a woman." He peered over his shoulder. "You're wrong about the Borden farm deal, you know. That was Baldy's idea all along."

J.C. and Liam's eyes locked in high alert. If what Joey was saying was true, Baldy had been behind the scam all along.

"If the car means that much to you, honey, maybe I should build you that garage after all." Liam prayed the tape was working. "All I need is a buyer for the estate that the family would approve. They'd never just let it go to anyone."

"Aw, sweetheart," J.C. cooed. "That would be the answer to my dream." She hoped Joey's auto-eroticism would lead them to the promised land of incriminating information.

"I liked the way you know how to take care of Juanita here, Mac. You're not afraid to show your sensitive side." Joey continued, running his fingertips lovingly over the detailing on the driver's side door. "And you know, I just might be able to help you with finding a buyer for your place."

"Oh, Mr. Ludovisi--" J.C. clutched his forearm, surprised to find it hairless. A metrosexual in the Mob? "--If only you could."

"No, problem, and call me, Joey. A kid like you," he said to J.C., for once looking at her face, "you've got class. A real Jersey girl. Do you mind?" He motioned to open the car door.

J.C. held out her hand. "Be my guest." She raised a pleased eyebrow toward Liam.

On cue, he lowered the hood. "In fact, why don't you take it for a spin?" he offered.

From that moment on, Joey the Juicer was like putty in their hands.

And, boy, did they squeeze him dry.

###

"I can't believe we just did that." J.C. could feel her heart racing so fast she was practically hyperventilating. She pulled the car into a rest stop off Route 295 and cut the engine. Since it was off-season, the parking area was deserted, the bathrooms and vending machines closed down.

"I know what you mean." Liam slid the micro-cassette recorder out his pants pocket and rewound it. "I almost turned the damn thing off when I told you we should be leaving back inside the house. Thank God, I didn't and I didn't run out of tape." He shut his eyes and contemplated what had just gone down.

Still panting, J.C. glanced over. The distant, flickering lights of passing cars sporadically illuminated the lines creasing Liam's face. He looked exhausted, but also pleased. She could tell because she recognized the same feeling within herself.

"You know, for the first time in my life, I can truly say that I did the right thing, for totally unselfish reasons," he confided.

He opened his eyes. "And you were fantastic. I was ready to give up, but you kept talking, getting Joey's attention, gaining his trust."

"That was just luck." Hey, maybe she did believe in luck, after all. "If anyone deserves the credit, it's you. The way you got Joey to give you the details about the Land for Future Generations, how they funnel the money and plan to erect shopping centers and Jiffy Lubes."

"Yeah, that wasn't bad, was it?" Liam smiled to himself. Then he looked at her, really looked at J.C. Not the red camisole or the tight, black miniskirt. Well, maybe at the camisole. "We make a great team, you know?"

Something inside J.C. burst. "I know," she admitted.

And then they were in each other's arms.

It was like the first time all over again. Only better. Because she knew the weight and feel of his arms. And because he breathed in the familiarity of her smell.

She yanked his shirt out of his pants. He pushed her skirt up and tugged at her thong. It snapped in two.

J.C. pried her lips from his. "I'm not sure we can do this here."

Liam worked two fingers into her moist center. "I know, it's too risky. Somebody could pull off the road."

J.C. bucked when he did something incredible with his thumb. She bit the side of his neck. "No, I mean the stick shift."

Liam pulled his head back. There was no mistaking the smell of lust in the car. "You think a little mechanical impediment can stop me?" He reached under his seat and pulled on the lever, sending his chair back as far as possible.

"Now are you ready to jump your mountain man?" he asked, hauling her to his lap and plunging his tongue in her mouth.

Yes, well, the stick shift didn't seem to be an impediment after all. J.C. straddled Liam and feverishly worked his zipper down. "At last, physical proof." Her hand cradled his protruding erection through the knit material.

Liam slipped the thin straps of her camisole from her shoulders. "What? That I'm happy to see you?"

"No, that you wear boxers during the week." And then she pushed them aside and got the proof that she was really after. He latched on to a nipple and suckled it to the point of aching.

"In the glove compartment," she gasped, "condoms."

Liam flailed blindly with his hand as he switched his attention to her other breast. "I love a woman who comes prepared."

"I got them after you left on Saturday, but never had an occasion to take them out." Had he really said the word love.

The glove compartment lid banged open against J.C.'s butt and she wiggled a little to the side.

Liam groaned. His fingers came in contact with a packet, but definitely not one with a Trojans label. "Hey, what's this?"

J.C. looked over her shoulder and saw Liam was holding a stack of bills -- actually, a wad big enough to choke a horse. "Oh, they're my winnings. I put them in there while Joey was driving. What can I say? I counted cards and made out like a bandit."

Liam laughed. Loudly. "You're one in a million, you know. And that's why I love you." He said it again, so casually that J.C. almost missed it.

But she didn't miss anything a few minutes later when he thrust the full length of his penis into her body. Immediately, she came with an intensity that ripped the moorings from her soul. Her cries mingled with his as he emptied himself into her.

And J.C. knew - with a sudden certainty that surprised her. She'd lost her heart to him, as well.