I want to have an affair while I can still give a guy a hard-on just by appearing in my fabulously flimsy French lingerie."" So announces Kelly, one of the three itchy wives in this sluggish/sleazy L.A. novel, which reads something like the script for an X-rated Love Boat installment. Kelly, you see, is nearly 32; she's been married for 14 years to unromantic lawyer Ron (her only lover ever); and so, though a loving wife/mother, she's obsessed with having a ""fling""--especially after bumping into handsome bachelor-architect Brandon. Meanwhile, Kelly's more sophisticated chums are having their own problems. Movie-exec Ericka is married to philandering super-shrink David, but still carrying a torch for teenage flame Jamie--now a hugely successful playwright. Swedish-born Kirstin, 45-ish wife of older real-estate tycoon Leonard, is loving and faithful (if less than passionate)--but Leonard has begun to get ridiculously jealous, hiring a private detective and digging up some secrets from Kirstin's long-ago past (a criminal ex-husband). How will it all end? Need you ask? Kelly, after much Doris-Day-ish hemming and hawing, finds what she's after (""active molten flesh,"" etc.) with Brandon--but winds up sticking with Ron, who finally agrees to try to be a little more romantic. Ericka, on a business-trip to N.Y., finds ""resplendent orgasm"" with Jamie, leaves her selfish hubby, but decides to take time before committing herself to a new relationship. And Kirstin, appalled by Leonard's behavior, walks out on him. . . which brings him to his senses. Tacky hot-tub fiction--poorly written (""The door seemed to slam on Kelly's heart""), oddly dated, but mildly commercial.