She seemed to relax and to regain her composure. “Surprised? No. No—not really. And yes. A progenitrix is always a little shocked; by the reality of it, I mean. The directness. At least, at first.” She moved toward the kitchenette. “Would you like a drink? Something to take the edge off?”
I watched as she took out a bottle of wine and paused, checking to make sure her towel was secure—then fetched two glasses. “I still want to do my hair, if you don’t mind. I know it’s silly, but—”
“Enough! Where are the others?”
“Oh, they’re here. They’re with their pro—they’re with their partners.”
She approached and extended the decanter—but hesitated before giving me the corkscrew. “How do I know you’re not going to gouge my eyes out with this?”
“You don’t.” I snatched her by the wrist suddenly an
