She might even get to assemble her little think tank of lawyers. The ones she called the Hell's Angels. Probably because they all knew how to ride mot...rcycles from their college days. They flew in and out of the Tryon International Airport now and then, when one of her clients needed a specialist. Unfortunately I was usually the client. She told me to think of them as brain surgeons and transplant specialists. Guys she called in for a specific case, then sent back to their wives, when she had. " Well you're only thirteen," laughed Stacy. "Okay, we have four peopledoing hair and two doing waxing. There are four rooms, so Andy and I,who qualified a few months ago, will do a few. Legs and arms should takethirty minutes, maximum. Once you are finished go and find a hairdresserwho will sort you out." Jill," I asked quietly. "Why don't we get done by Andy? That mightstop some others getting worried." I don't mind," she replied. "I've been waxed before by both sexes." Andy, can you. “It’s her loss because you seem like a decent young man. You’re what, at least twenty-eight?”I laughed heartily. “Try Forty, Prabha.”“My goodness; Beverly down the hall is also in her thirties. I know she’s divorced with a couple of children, but she’s very nice and a hard worker. Not many young people nowadays know the meaning of hard work. You should drop by and visit her sometime.”I politely nodded, knowing I wasn’t about to get involved with a woman who had kids. “I’ll keep that in. The first odd thing, the fact that she looked at me in the first place, made a very small ripple in the pond -- it could've been coincidence, it could've been the window, it could've been her stretching a tube in her neck. Anything. So whatever flags were raised, here I simply ignored them. And rightly would have -- if that had been the last occurrence. After all, it was harmless. Trivial. Perfunctory! But then for a second time, with renewed interest, she swiveled her neck sideways to look at.