THIRTY MINUTES LATER, we were in the grocery store, talking about her family and Slammer. We didn’t discuss his death, however, just some of the fond memories she had with him.
“He obviously loved you a lot,” I said, after we laughed about an incident where he’d ordered flowers over the phone and the shop had screwed up. Instead of the note saying “I love you, Frannie”, it had said “I love your Fanny.” Apparently, he’d been drinking, too, so they figured it had been just as much Slammer’s fault as it had been the shop’s.
She nodded. “He was such a good man. Honestly,” she smiled wanly. “I don’t think he ever cheated on me either. I’d like to hope not, at least. I know it’s not uncommon in the club life.”
Frannie was right, especially with all of the parties and chicks willing to do anyt
