Her bold question regarding her attractiveness had made the intended effect on him and now Pace had to decide if he should make a serious move on her or let it pass. At his age, this took no small effort. He was twenty-four years older than Misty—what could she want, or expect, from him? Was she being merely casually flirtatious or did she genuinely desire Pace to pursue her? He disliked the uncertainty of it, this perilous game. She probably did not care, really, if she ever saw him again. And what was this Crusader Ralph nonsense, anyway? She was from a suburb of Los Angeles, an in-grown community of Pacific Islanders Pace had heard about when he lived in L.A. and worked in the movie business. Misty Tonga—her family was Tongan and she probably had seven or eight gigantic brothers. The telephone rang. “Hello?” “Pace Ripley? This is Misty Tonga. Would you be agreeable to having a White Russian with me this afternoon?”
