What was it about him that made people assume he spent all his spare time cutting the grass, repairing the gutters and waxing the 4x4?He glanced at the cola he'd nursed for the last half hour. No matter the occasion, Michael was always the designated driver. Always fated to drive loud-mouthed pissheads home while they shouted out his 4x4's windows like football hooligans. Then the next workday, before the staff meeting, they would claim all sorts of outlandish adventures. Michael was honest. He never denied where he went after each Friday night at the corner gastro-pub. He went home, apologizing to Frannie if he stayed out past one o'clock, the limit she had set. After admitting as much, Michael had to endure his colleagues' teasing and listen to their stories: teenage Lolitas coming on to them in nightclubs, anonymous three-ways with kinky college girls, prostitutes dealing out freebies. It was all pure fantasy. True, Germanotti had talked one of the company's interns into having sex with him in the stockroom.
