Page 83 of Fierce

“Ideas,” I plowed on. “About Hope. And Karen. I’m...” I cleared my throat. “Spending some time with Hope, but I think I need to include Karen as well if I want any more of it. And I don’t have much clue about what a fifteen-year-old girl would want to do. She wasn’t too keen on the rose garden. I’d think shopping, but she didn’t seem like much of a shopper, and Hope’s got a bit of a thing about—”

“About not wanting to get bought,” Debra finished. “Yeah. Hm. Give me a sec here. Museum, maybe.”

“Again,” I said, “maybe not, eh. Hope loves art. Karen—I’m thinking not so much.”

“Not that kind of museum. Science museum, something like that. Or take ‘em out to a Broadway show. Some big musical, hot ticket. They choose which one, and you make it happen. Spoil ‘em both a little. That’d work. Women don’t want to get bought, but they sure do like to get spoiled.”

“A science museum wouldn’t be too bad,” I conceded. “But a Broadway show? Not my idea of a good time.”

“Seems to me we had this talk. It ain’t about what you want.”

“Right,” I said glumly. “Cheers.”

The next voice I heard was Eugene’s. “Hang on a sec,” he said. “Let me get out my calendar and a big ol’ red pen so I can put a circle around this day. Yep, this is what we call a red-letter day.”

“Rack off,” I said. “See you at seven tomorrow night.”

I rang off and wondered what had happened to my life. One minute, I’d been in control. The next, I was spending my evenings with Hope and Karen in their flannel pajamas, doing the washing-up, and contemplating the prospect of The Lion King. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

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