The thighs were still there. ‘Now I’m hearing voices and seeing things,’ I muttered softly. I let my eyes trail upwards. A skinny waist. Broad ...hest covered by white T-shirt under a big, loose red flannel over shirt. I looked up at the face and did a double take. I blinked. It was like my brain was one of those FBI facial recognition programs. I took the mental picture in my mind and aged it twenty years. ‘You’re not…’ ‘Uh-huh,’ he said and nodded. They say before death your whole life. Certainsdes hommes veulent mieux te conna?tre, si tu vois ce que je veux dire. Iwon't translate what she said. Her meaning was obvious even to those whodon't speak French. Things were going way too far. Was she a real Madamand were we expected to become her whores?Thank god, it was nearing the end of my assignment and not a moment toosoon. I was losing myself as Britney. I loved the new me and most of herlife, all except for Madam Sylvie's none to discrete prodding to becomemore than just. Linda patiently listened to Bob's troubles with his job but Bob tended tobrush off her problems saying that as a secretary all she really had to dowas to sit around and look pretty. He laughingly told her that she had a'girl job' and didn't really know hard it was for him.One thing that always annoyed her was the way he took for granted how niceshe always looked. He had no idea what she went through to look her best,the discomfort of sleeping in curlers, the way her feet hurt after. Nice Guy – that was me. It’s true, I was young and confused back then, and didn’t realize a womanly ploy when it was staring me in the face. I knew that then in the boat I had only succeeded in giving her a foot massage and venturing up her legs with my hands as far as her knees. She pretended to sleep the whole while, and I’d even summoned enough courage to give her big toe a kiss and a nibble when some asshole in a speedboat flew by and almost flipped us over. There was no way Ruth could.
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