Suck

Old couples, it is said, are the oldest of friends. They talk to each other for years until finally they're almost the same person, a merging of souls, a conglomeration of beliefs and dreams. Not so for Gretchen and Paul Colvin, who share a stunning six-bedroom, three-bath house in Rye, New York. Thanks to the sheer expanse of their house, not only do these two rarely see each other, but each seems to have very little idea of what the other is doing.

"This is a full bar, great for entertaining ... back when the kids were younger. The '80s were all about entertaining, if you can remember. The pool was a real joy for the kids, too, you know, teenagers love pool parties," explains Gretchen over a bag of Baked Lays and a Diet Coke.

"I don't remember any pool parties," Paul Colvin mumbles at Gretchen without looking up from 60 Minutes.

"We had lots of pool parties. You were in the city, working all hours. We could've had orgies and you wouldn't have known, honey," Gretchen laughs nervously. A prominent vein in her forehead has come to life.

"I'd put tape on all the bottles to make sure those kids didn't drink anything," Gretchen whispers, conspiratorially. An old dog wanders by the five-piece reclining sectional turquoise couch and knocks right into the glass side table, spilling a glossy pile of People magazines all over the flower-print rug.

"Those kids loved to do dives, so we got a diving board, and they'd do the craziest stuff. I thought they'd push all the water out of the pool, with those huge splashes they made!" The old dog wanders over and in a slow, painful movement, lifts a matted paw onto Gretchen's lap to request a low-fat potato chip.

"Danny Moss, Susan Moss' boy, used to come over and do these cannonball things all the time. You curl up in a fetal position, and wham! Water would go all the way over into my petunia beds over there." Gretchen shoves a few chips into the dog's mouth and continues talking. "Poor kid's in rehab now. Crack, I think. Or dope. Heroin, maybe. His dad was a drinker, is what Shirley says. You know, that stuff runs in the family."

"Heroin is dope," Paul snaps at Mike Wallace.

"Oh, you don't know anything," Gretchen chuckles amiably while smoothing potato-chip crumbs off the denim love seat where she's perched, scooping them into her manicured hand.

Next ... Gretchen's trophy room!