“Hello, hotshot.”
“Hey, baby! Where are you?”
“In this damned hotel in Atlanta.”
“Doing some good?”
“None you’d notice. I’m lonesome.”
“Me too.”
“Horny.”
“Me too.”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“Well, I had a run-in with Mrs. Holper today. She wanted to return a dress with a huge big whiskey stain on the seat. I mean, obviously she had worn it to the Jaycee thing.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her I didn’t sell it to her like that.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said she never had any trouble returning dresses before, which was one reason she shopped at my place rather than some others that she knew about.”
“And then what did you say?”
“Oh, I said I was upset because Will talks like a jack-ass on the phone.”
“I see.”
“Willy’s fine. He’s covering some turtle eggs the dogs dug up. Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Reading reports. Eating junk food.”
“Thinking a good bit, I expect.”
“Yep.”
“Can I help you?”
“I just don’t have a lock on anything, Molly. There’s not enough information. Well, there’s a lot of information, but I haven’t done enough with it.”
“Will you be in Atlanta for a whi
le? I’m not bugging you about coming home, I just wonder.”
“I don’t know. I’ll be here a few more days at least. I miss you.”
“Want to talk about fucking?”
“I don’t think I could stand it. I think maybe we better not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about fucking.”