`What do you think of our babysitter?'  Dolly asks, adjusting a garter.  `Oh, I hardly noticed,' he says.  `Cute girl.  She seems to get along fine with the kids.  Why?'  `I don't know.'  His wife tugs her skirt down, glances at a lighted window they are passing, adding: `I'm not sure I trust her completely, that's all.  With the baby, I mean.  She seems a little careless.  And the other time, I'm almost sure she had a boyfriend over.'  He grins, claps one hand on his wife's broad gartered thigh.  `What's wrong with that?' he asks.  Still in anklets, too.  Bare thighs, no girdles, nothing up there but a flimsy pair of panties and soft adolescent flesh.  He's flooded with vague remembrances of football matches and movie balconies.