Lonnie’s wife, Leona, had dragged my Mary Lee off on a church Meditation Retreat. I hoped Mary Lee wasn’t going to come home a hardshell Baptist like Leona, who was a fine person but sometimes a little too particular about what was okay and what wasn’t. How she got to be married to Lonnie was something I’d always been a little afraid to ask.
Bud Blossom, her Chinese-American boss, was at the hostess station, of course, checking his watch.
“Two minutes early, Miss Don’t Give The Boss An Extra Second,” he said in the Midwestern twang that sounded so odd coming from his exotic face. “You must be slipping.”
I opened the door slowly for my guest, careful of my candle’s flame. My eyes are accustomed to the gloom, but a gentleman is always considerate of his visitors, even if they only come on business. So few people want to visit me, and none of them stay long. It’s no wonder I want to emigrate.
