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the area like a choking blanket of wet, slate gray smoke. With a steady drizzle settling in, it was destined to be one of those afternoons that men like to think would be perfect for spending under a blanket with some love-starved sex kitten. I probably would have dwelled on that rather intriguing thought, but when the phone rang, the images were whisked away by reality. |
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"Didn't think I'd be lucky enough to catch you on the first try," Lucy chimed. |
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"Just hangin' around the motel, watching it rain," I offered laconically. |
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"Before we get into the meat of this conversation, the scuttlebutt back here has it that you've got a girl with you." |
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Let me fix Lucy in time and space for you. Lucy Martin may very well be the world's longest running, never finishing anything, graduate assistant. My esteemed fellow academians back at good old Saint Francis inform me that Lucy, the perpetual student, has been there long enough to have tenure. She has achieved this distinction by changing her major several times, and at the rate of one class a semester, she may very well journey into senility without a degree. She embraces her questionable goal orientation by virtue of the fact that her father is stinking rich and endorses her "I'm interested in everything" philosophy. Still, Lucy has proven to be a valuable resource; I can trust her. |
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