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[continuing chapter eight]
Over dinner they tried to divine Jerry W. Straebo’s interest in Lily Cross. Straebo, Desiree informed Casey, was already heavily involved with Eve Adams—not to mention still having a wife somewhere around San Francisco. The wife had long since accepted her place in the scheme of things, but Desiree was of the opinion that Miss Adams wouldn’t go so quietly had her turn come.
“I don’t understand him,” Casey said, carefully carving his chop. “Miss Adams seems to be just the sort of young woman a man like Straebo would want. She faints at the drop of a profanity, she seems incapable of doing anything without asking him first, and on top of it all she still seems to be a reasonably pleasant young woman. Oh, and she’s pretty, too, I guess.”
“You guess,” Desiree said.
“So why would he start having an affair with Lily Cross? At the very best she’s just another Eve Adams. And if what Carole London told us this afternoon is even close to being true, Lily Cross was a bit of a—”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is quiff,” Desiree said with a wicked grin. “Slut would also do.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Casey said. “Mother wouldn’t let me associate with That Sort of Woman. Neither would General Trenchard.”
“And now you’re cavorting with actresses. Oh, the shame.” Desiree tore into a roll; crumbs scattered like shrapnel. “The reason he did it, Casey,” she said with her mouth full, “is because he can. And because someone new and different is always more exciting, even if she’s less worthy. Sometimes because she’s less worthy.”
Next Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
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