The Truman Capote Musical Cozy Clutter Water Fountain

They admired the display version of the Musical Cozy Clutter Water Fountain in the Bath and Body section of J.C. Penney.

“Isn’t it cute?” Samantha purred.

“It’s adorable!” Ethan beamed. He picked up the box and read the ad copy aloud to her: “This delightful battery-operated musical fountain captures a scene from one of the most-often used rooms in your home in charming detail. Seemingly disorganized and messy, this room full of scattered towels and clutter is a vivid reminder of the important distinction between house and home. Features colorful, intricate detailing and sound activated operation.” He studied the box. “Looks like it’s about ten inches by seven inches. We could put it between our sinks, sort of as a divider.”

“So damn cute,” Samantha said. “All that detailing in the sculpture, the little towels and the magazine rack, and the bath soaps and shampoos. Oh, you’re right, we’ve really got to have it for the bathroom, Ethan. I like it a lot.”

“So do I. It’s battery operated, by the way. Four Double A’s.”

“You really like it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Ethan shifted on one foot. “You know what else I really like?”

“What, baby?” She smiled, sweeping her dark bangs back from her forehead with a flick of her hand.

He lowered his voice to just above a hoarse whisper. “The execution scene in ‘In Cold Blood’, the book, not the movie.”

She hesitated before venturing further. “Yes, I know it’s the book, not the movie. Still, though? That’s still working for you?”

“Oh yeahhhhhh,” he said slowly with a lusty lopsided grin.

Samantha knew that look in his eye. She took his hand. “Let’s go home and examine the headboard, then.”

The whole “In Cold Blood” thing, which came on last month after Ethan delved into the book, was perplexing and disturbing, Samantha knew, but it was cheaper than Viagra.