"Come on in Honey," I said. Tracy came into my abode and looked around. She had never been here before. We were either at her apartment or at a hotel....I had told her my place was not up to my standards, therefore not her's either. "My God, do you shit gold?" She asked me. "Are you a drug kingpin or something? I thought you might just have a small studio or something." "My grandfather helped me. I have to keep him happy or I'm out on my ass," I lied. Are you ready for your interview? I'm all. I knew, instinctively, that I couldn't try to backpedal now. Now I had to hope that she'd realize later that she had nowhere to turn.After a second to get over my shock at her answer, I pulled myself together. "Fine. I don't want to kick you out in the middle of the night. I'll take you to work tomorrow and you can try to make other arrangements. But you realize that all those clothes that I bought you and everything else was my part of this bargain. If you don't want to take your end, I'll. All largely without official explanation.They hadn't known whether to shit or go blind.I got to watch the Justice news conference Wednesday morning on the TV in which McDonough tried to sort the mess out for them. In the "culmination of a long-standing investigation," he said, Sen. Golden had been "placed in custody" for "serious criminal activity"—exactly what, he said, would have to remain unspecified until the indictment. As for me, also still unnamed, I had been "exonerated of all criminal. And, to cap it off, Velma could continue her hot action on the side with her horny boyfriend and his daughter.What was she waiting for?The address! Was it 123 Sutton Drive, Apartment 1? Or 121 Sutton Drive, Apartment 3? She should have written it down!After living with a man who made all her decisions for her for so many years, including when to wash her pussy and wag her overripe ass, Velma was not big on efficiency.But when she finally moved, it was with grim-jawed purpose. She'd check both.