Twenty-Nine
I GET TO THE BISTRO first and get us a table. The ladies arrive a few minutes later, Helen striding in behind a very unhappy looking Gladys.
This is going to be a long lunch.
“I told you both I can handle this myself,” Gladys hisses.
Helen whispers, “And I told you that I wasn’t about to let you anywhere near that . . . that . . . predator.”
“Richard is not a predator, Mom. I’ve tried to tell you time and time again that he never made me do anything—”
“—he took advantage of your youth and inexperience—”
“Helen, Gladys,” I whisper. “Can we please put this off for another time?”
They look at each other, then nod. “Here he comes anyway,” Gladys says, the smile on her face a sharp contrast to Helen’s barely concealed scowl.
Richard Davenport is a tall man, still athletica
