“Answer me,” I said quietly.“You’re going to kill me,” she sobbed. “I heard that old bitch.”“It is my choice,” I said. “I can do w...at your friends do with pretty women, put you in a whore house. You could do twenty or so men a day, day after day after day, couldn’t you, into every hole you’ve got?”She looked away.“Or I could give you to some of our Indian friends. They’re very partial to blondes.”“You wouldn’t,” she snorted.“Or,” I said, taking out my big knife and showed it to her, “I could. He had had no choice but to sign allof the documents in order to get the financial backing his company needed toweather the recession.Preston Sinclair closed the bathroom door and began to unfasten the overlytight buttons of the business suit. I am going to need to wear such finerymuch longer? he thought. Am I going to have any control over my company atall by next month?The bastards had been clever. They hadn't tried a hostile takeoverimmediately, not when Preston's company first started. You're right, 'reedy' isn't the right word for you -- or for him, either."She leaned into me now, and lowered her voice, although there wasn't anyone else around to overhear us. "And, you know, the first time I was with him? Well, damn! He was, like, really big, you know?... Where it counts the most?"This turn in the conversation was a little bit of a shocker for me. Betsy had always been something of a free spirit around me, but we'd never discussed her sex life before. Then again, we'd never. She does individual and group portraits. She even poses for pictures by folks on the beach. She wears a red bikini and elicits a favorable response wherever she walks. She approaches the tall brunette, takes her picture, and talks to her for a bit. She points over to me and waves. The brunette smiles as she looks over at me. I smile back. Alice walks up the beach for a bit further then comes back to me. ‘She’ll meet us at the shop about 5. Her name is Nancy. She’s from Charlotte. She likes.