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Ashley and her dad had spontaneously gone out golfing and I was in a state of, well, I had been fucking myself, ok? Anyways, instead of running away screaming or excusing herself or whatever one would be expected to do in that situation, she just comes right over and asks what I’m reading. She read the back of it, asking if she could read it when I'm done, saying she’s really curious about sex with a woman." She grabbed his arm, continuing, "As if I don’t know about her and Ashley by now. Anyhow, when I went to the bedroom too, you know, get a robe or something, she followed me in and asked me if I can look at something for her. Of course, I said yes, having no idea she was talking about. She asked, ‘if she shaved her off her pubes correctly,’ saying she had just done it for the first time. She asked ME, basically her aunt, if I could clean up any spots she couldn’t reach. Alan, she was wearing crotchless fucking panties! I lost control. It’s my fault, I said yes. I was. We’ll whip you up un specialte du maison.’ Miss DeMillo sat on a stool at the work counter, observing the bustle about her with real interest. She chatted briefly with Chef Bernard. Then, with hopeful aplomb, he asked. ‘Are you one of Mr. Wayne’s secretaries?’ She looked down at her fidgeting hands, then admitted to the older, suave Frenchman. ‘No, actually I am with Dick. We, ahhmm, are now living together.’ He looked startled and in an envious tone replied. ‘I would never have believed that I would ever be so jealous of an American man’s love life as I am right now!’ Cecelia practically combusted as she blushed so prettily. Then giggled as the catering staff applauded her for dragging such an admission out of their proud and temperamental Parisian food artiste. He glared at them all. Then laughed at himself. Under the chef’s competent direction, she was quickly served a small salad of mixed greens, sweet peppers and berry-tomatoes, dressed with a handmade vinaigrette. A halved.
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