It had taken a day or two for her to come to her senses. What her senses told her was that she’d got it right the first time around—with the rocksteady Fox. Meanwhile, Johnny had sent several more lush bouquets. She decided she had to put a stop to it. And she wanted her scarf back. The phone rang only twice before he answered. ‘Yeah.’ Even his phone manner was arrogant. ‘Johnny.’ There was a pause on the other end. ‘It’s me.’ ‘What are you wearing?’ ‘Uh, Johnny.’ ‘Under your clothes.’ His voice was bizarrely compelling. She stood up and glanced over the partition. It was lunchtime. Only the receptionist and the art director were around. The receptionist was filing her nails, and the art director was hunched over a light-box examining transparencies. Lowering her voice, she told him, ‘Lacy black bra and French knickers.’ ‘Take them off for me tonight?’ What am I doing? ‘No, Johnny, look, I shouldn’t have answered that question. I have to talk to you.’ ‘Talk is boring.
