You are fine as hell. Do you hear me?" I said.She giggled and said:"Oh, Chad. Leave it to you to be blunt. I was talking about my boyfriend. He may no... look it, but he's kind of territorial. I have my fair share of male friends." Oh, him? Am I one of them?" I said, really hopeful and smiling.She smiled her imperfect smile."Yeah. You're cool with me." My girl. Anyway, what was that about me packing?" I said, tilting my head."Oops. Oh, yeah. Don't trip about me knowing. Becky tells me everything.. I like that," she said wiggling her shapely ass while putting her head forward to roll it around her shoulders. "That's very relaxing. I haven't had someone feel my ass like that since I had a massage in Jamaica." You had an erotic massage in Jamaica?" Never mind. I'm sorry I said anything. That was a long time ago. I was young and dumb and I had no idea that Andre--" Andre? Who the fuck is Andre?" My masseur, a big black man," she said with a laugh. "Anyway, I had no idea that Andre was going. That would maker her feel good, ready to deal with life again, a nice, sizzling climax to straighten her out.Concentrate, she told herself. Think sexy. She tried to think back to the lovers she had had before she met George. It seemed so long ago already. But she could remember some of them. She could remember one guy. He was a tall guy with sandy hair and a droopy mustache. Like George, he was several years younger than her. She found that at these singles bars where she bad been going since. The seclusion and privacy of Beverly Hills was designed to discourage familiarity but I couldn’t help notice how Betty and Harold seemed to have classic cocktail parties three or four times a week, the big band music and babble of voices reaching me when I sat on my patio. Their soirées would go on into the early hours. It never bothered me. It wasn’t as if I had guests that were being disturbed by the noise. Besides, it was a sign of life in the neighborhood.Through Amelia, I discovered her.