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"Yes to both of your questions." |
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"Were they interesting enough that you'd like to know more?" |
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"Interesting enough that I invested several hundred bucks in airline tickets, rental cars and motel bills to spend a few minutes with what's left of Myron Bell." |
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"And?" she pushed. Brenda Cashman was fast establishing her reputation with E.G. Wages as one very aggressive female. Already she was interrogating me, and I hadn't even met the woman. "So what did you learn?" |
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"Nothing! Something! I don't know yet. I'm still thinking about it." |
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Her next question was right out of left field. "What do you drink, Mr. Wages?" |
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Questions like that have a tendency to leave me speechless. Over the years, my bachelor lifestyle has allowed me to become a pretty private sort of person; most folks sense that and keep their distance. Still, when a question is asked, I feel obliged to respond. "Scotch. Why?" |
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"Me, too. I'm a Scotch drinker. Haul out a bottle of your best 'cause I'm on my way over. I've got something to tell you." |
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There was a time when I would have been absolutely enchanted and perhaps even salivated at such a proposal, but that was another time and another placeand I think even another world. The truth is, after |
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