Of course, there was no guarantee George would answer her phone, which was all intensely nerve-wracking because I didn’t have a backup plan. Thankfully she picked up after the fourth ring.
“Tell me,” came her familiar drawl, “that this is a booty call.”
“Um. It’s a please for the love of God help me call?”
I couldn’t see her, but I felt her manner change. “What’s the matter?”
Somehow I babbled out the story—at least the parts of it that didn’t involve Steyne trying to r**e me.
“I’m not sure I understood a word of that. But I think you’re telling me you want to go a s*x party? To save Matthew Bloomberg? From some ill-advised impact play?”
“I guess?”
A pause. “You do live in interesting times, poppet.”
“Is there a thing, though? Tonight. Like Steyne said.”
“Give me a moment—I vaguel
