”She jumped in, “Yes. That is what you told me. I only complied with your wishes.”I answered, “But that was just a fantasy, a game, a made-up ...tory that got us hot. We’ve played that game with photographers, tourists, hikers on a trail, folks watching us from an open motel window. This was way different.”Jessica looked confused, doubtful of my words.She was getting testy, asking, “I asked you and you said you were ready?”I surprised her by agreeing, “I said that, yes. It was the same game-way. It was August cool in the central valley of California and there was some hope of an internship in Long Beach, California. She prayed it was the project manager she had so hoped to hear from and answered. Even better would be an agent for her writing. She didn’t care, she needed some sort of income and soon. ‘Lauren Hatfield?’ It was a male’s voice. ‘Speaking.’ She crossed her fingers and reached for a Parker pen in the mess that was a desk she had long outgrown. In the front room of her. More

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