Must be talking to ol' SWAT, I thought, and smiled.Must be talking to ol' SWAT, I thought, and smiled. Threaten *my* cat, would he? A minute or so later she left again, slamming her front door and stalking down the drive with a stormy look on her face. Her skirts had gradually been getting shorter and her heels a little higher. This skirt was about eight inches above the knee and her long, purposeful strides really showed off her calves. Her tires squealed as she rocketed out of her driveway and I was glad she had no reason to be angry at *me*. When the mailman wandered by that day, he managed to lose Carol's VISA statement in among my stuff, so I was keeping an eye out for her return late that afternoon. I watched as she pulled in and climbed wearily out of her car; she never walked as fast in the evening as she did in the morning. I had seen Stephanie hit the house about 4:00 and immediately leave again with a gang of friends in a station wagon. I counted to fifty after Carol closed her door and sauntered over in clean levis and a clean polo shirt -- practically dress-up for a comp day. She answered her doorbell and looked at me a bit blankly. She knew perfectly well who I was but I'd never had occasion to come to her door before. Then she remembered her manners, said "Hi," and gave me her Professional Receptionist smile. "The postman mixed up our mail and I wouldn't want to deprive you of this," I said with a smile and held up the VISA bill. It was a thick one, too. "Gee, thanks -- just what I needed." She took the envelope and weighed it in the palm of her hand with a wry grin. She had let her nails grow and they complemented her long, tapering fingers. Okay, I thought -- that's that. I sort of nodded and turned to go but she seemed to make a spur-of-the-moment decision and pulled her door all the way open. |