She should surely be done blowing Don Maxwell by then and making him cream in torrents.
"Fair enough," Harold Bradford finally acquiesced. "I'll hang up now and wait for your call. Cheers, honey."
"Cheers, Harold," she echoed him dully, then dropped the receiver back into the hook of the phone ...
* * *
"Who was that chick?" Don asked of her when she hung up. "Your steady boy-friend?"
"Uh-huh," she muttered back at him in reply.
"And I'll bet I kin tell the type, too," he mused. "Tell me if I'm right, sugar-plum."
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
"He's white, tall, clean-cut and crew cut, and has a big executive-job. And, he thinks his s**t doesn't stink, and, he wants to many you. So am I right, or ain't I, huh, doll?"
"Yes -- to the very letter!" Brenda was fairly incredulous
