The Keaton kitchen was in chaos. Mounds of canvas and nylon covered the table. Boxes; Tupperware of every size, shape and color; and a couple of red and white coolers buried the counters, with cereal bowls and coffee cups scattered here and there in any available niche. Steven, the father, was patiently trying to run down a checklist while juggling little Andrew. He was holding the child slightly away from him, hoping to keep the drool off his red plaid shirt. Alex, their oldest son, was loudly explaining that he hated wildlife or anything else with the word "wild" in it. Daughter Jennifer was trying to prop her eyes open in one corner; in another, Mallory and her boyfriend, Nick, were covertly cuddling.

It was 5 a.m. Only a faint rosy glow came through the windows, and that was from the lights Steven had forgotten to turn off when he came back from gassing up.

Finally getting down to the last item on the list, Steven looked up.

"Alex, quiet down. Your mother's still asleep."

"Lucky her," said Jennifer, a pert blond in her early teens.

"Now, kids, you know your Mom would love to go with us, but she has that project to finish up, and her cold is getting worse. If she gets a little rest she'll be fine."

"Shouldn't I stay home to take care of her?" Alex, a short young man with a boyish grin, looked hopeful.

"Take care? You?" Mallory, the willowy daughter, uncoiled herself from Nick. A short exchange of the usual Keaton insults followed before both sides retired to neutral corners.

"At least Nick isn't complaining," Steven noted smugly as he began to gather up the supplies.

"Yeah, that's right, Mr. Keaton," the scuzzy looking boy answered. Then, in a whisper, to Mallory: "Yeah, I'm not complaining, because I'm gonna be blitzed the whole time. You won't forget to take the juice, will you?"

"Me?" Mallory whispered back, offended. "Forget?"

"Sorry," her boyfriend said with a shrug. "But I put a whole bottle of vodka in that OJ and it's the only thing that's gonna get me through this whole family camping thing."

Before Mallory could answer, Jennifer dumped a box in her hands and gave Nick a picnic basket. "Come on," the younger girl said sleepily. "The sooner we get this stuff packed, the sooner I can go to sleep in the back seat."

The morning sun shone dimly through the clouds, casting a faint light on empty kitchen counters when Elyse Keaton stumbled into the room later that day. She gathered her ratty blue bathrobe closer around her as she looked out on the gray sky, and sniffled. She pulled a Kleenex out of one pocket and wiped her nose, then brushed a hand through her hair. Her eyes were red and her eyelids hung low.

Elyse shuffled to the refrigerator and opened the door, smacking her lips faintly as she stared. "Great. They took the juice," she muttered to herself as she closed the door. "I didn't need any vitamin C, anyway. I'm perfectly fine." She let loose a honking sneeze.

Out came a Kleenex. From another pocket she pulled a couple of bottles of cold medicine. Squinting to read the instructions on the sides, she poured several pills into her hand and downed them with a glass of water.

On her way back to the living room, she stopped short. Sitting on a side counter, almost hidden by several now- empty cereal bowls, was a huge bottle of what looked like... she opened the lid and sniffed -- nothing, too stuffed up. She poured a small glass and downed it. Yes, it tasted like it. Orange juice! Salvation! She gathered the jug up in her arms, clutching a plastic tumbler in one hand, and pushed through the door.

Dropping onto the couch in the living room, she poured herself a tumblerful of juice, switched on the TV, and started watching. As she swallowed a big gulp, her eyes widened a bit. She held the tumbler up and examined it more closely, then smacked her lips and filled it up to the brim again.

Skippy Handelman knocked on the Keaton's kitchen door several times and called out. Finally he tried the handle; it opened and he walked in.

He called out again as he went through the kitchen. "Anyone home? Alex? Mallory? Mrs. Keaton?" His calls got no reply. He stopped and looked around, then smacked his head. "That's right, the camping trip! I guess it really was this weekend, after all. Darn."

He turned and went back to the outside door, and then stopped again. It was unlocked, he remembered. Slowly, quietly, he crept back through the kitchen and pushed open the door to the living room. It creaked. "Ssshhh!" he hushed as he slipped through. On his way past the counters he had picked up a spatula, which he now raised threateningly above his head.

A few steps into the room, though, he lowered it. Mrs. Keaton was lying flat on the couch, one bare leg fallen out of her robe and down to the floor. Next to her, on the coffee table, was a half-empty jug of orange juice; some architectural renderings were scattered on the floor around her.

"Oops! Sorry, Mrs. Keaton, I -- uh..." Here, his voice fell to a whisper. "I'll just go, now, OK? And I'll lock the door on my way out."

Before he could get through the door to the kitchen, a weak voice called out.

"Huh? Whozzat?"

He turned back to the couch. Mrs. Keaton was struggling to a sitting position, blinking her eyes rapidly and scrunching up her face in a squint.

"Steven?" she said, her voice gaining strength. "Is that you?"

Skippy was shorter and broader than her husband, and younger and dumpier, and he had no beard. But he was wearing a red plaid shirt and jeans.

He took a few steps toward her. "No, Mrs. Keaton, it's me, Skippy. See?"

"Steven? What are you doing here?"

"No, he's gone camping..."

"That's right, you went camping. Where are the kids?"

"I told you, camping." Skippy sat down beside her on the couch, bobbing his head in an attempt to keep it within her shaky line of sight.

"Oh, they're still camping?" There was a giggle in her voice. "So it's you and me alone? You romantic devil, you." Mrs. Keaton fell forward, dropping into Skippy's lap. He pushed her back up.

"No, Mrs. Keaton, it's me, Skippy, remember?"

"I remember, Steven," she said. "It's only been -- uhhhh..." she glanced around wildly to find a clock, then gave up. "Sixeven hours. Right?" She began to topple sideways and Skippy grabbed her.

She grabbed him back, planting a wet kiss about an inch to the left of his lips.

"Come on, don' play so hard to get," she said, grabbing his face to steady it before kissing him deeply, her tongue pressing into the boy's mouth. The sharp taste of alcohol almost made him swoon.

"Mrs. Keaton, I -- I think I better get out of here," he said, trying to rise from the couch. It was tough to do with her still hanging on to him, almost a dead weight. "I think you've had too much to drink."

"A drink? No, thanks, I'll pass," she said. "I've got that cold and I shouldn't drink when I've taken mecidine -- menicid... mega... drugs."

As Skippy continued to struggle, Elyse tugged at his pants, finally undoing the belt, and began to paw at the zipper. "Come on, Steven," she said, taking an exaggerated sigh, "don't be such an old duddy-fuddy. I want you!"

The boy finally got loose and jumped to his feet. His pants stayed behind, clutched in the older woman's hands.

He began to hop away, his pants falling to his ankles and his baggy polka-dot boxers flapping. Mrs. Keaton released her grip and rose, shakily. Her robe fell open, revealing her still- trim body, lush curves held in check only by a filmy black bra and a silken pair of black panties. "Whazzamatter?" she cried, an edge in her voice. "I'm not good enough for you?" Angrily, she tugged and pulled at her bra, finally popping it loose. Her breasts bounced free, drooping only slightly.

Skippy stared, lost his balance and tumbled to the floor. He looked up to see Mrs. Keaton standing over him, legs apart. She had stripped off her panties and he was staring straight into her cunt. He began to mumble incoherently.

Struggling to stay upright herself, Elyse hauled the boy to his feet and began to drag him to the couch. "That's it, Stevie," she said, her voice rising into an almost hysterical giggle. "Whoo! I'm feeling a dittle lizzy! You must be getting to me!"