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we shouldn't be too hard on old Bryan." |
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"Oh? And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?" |
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"Think about it. I've been so worried about him that all this voodoo crap has just sort of rolled off my back." |
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"And a very pretty back it is too." Cyrus chuckled. |
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"Don't be a jerk," she said, taking the bottle to her lips. |
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"I'm not a jerk," he retorted, raising and lowering his-eyebrows like Groucho Marx. "I'm a wolf." |
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Kyna had to cup her hand over her mouth to keep from spraying beer all over the table. When she was able to speak she said, "You're incorrigible." |
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Cyrus took her hand and gently massaged the fingers. "I wouldn't worry about Mr. Douglas anymore." |
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Kyna attacked the LA traffic the same way she did everything elsehead-on. It was just before four P.M. and the swarm on Interstate 5 was lethal. It seemed that behind the wheel of every car was either a Mario Andretti wannabe or an escaped yuppie mental patient. Cyrus was so rattled that after the third near collision he thought he was about to undergo the change. Kyna, on the other hand, whipped the Lincoln through the concrete canyons like she had been raised in California. She always knew just when to accelerate, just when to slam on the brakes and just when to salute the other drivers with her middle finger. |
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"That's what sunroofs are for," she insisted as she stuck her hand through the opening in response to the honking of a Porsche on her bumper. |
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When they reached the south LA suburbs Kyna flexed her fingers and asked, "Why so quiet? My driving take your breath away?" |
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As soon as he said it, he knew that no woman could ever leave it at that. It was like waving catnip in the face of a cat. |
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