The accountant says, “Before we begin, I’ll need to ask you a few questions.” He gets her name, address etc. and then asks, “What’s your occ...pation?”“I’m a prostitute,” she says.The accountant is taken aback and says, “That’s too gross. Let’s try to re-phrase that.”The woman says, “OK, I’m a high-end call girl.”“No, that still won’t work. Need something more acceptable.”They both think for a minute; then the woman says, “I’m an elite poultry farmer.”The accountant asks, “What does poultry. Two large ottomans take up most of the space. There are three small tables around the sofa and love seat, another next to Frank's chair." Open your eyes."She opened her eyes and found herself in the Watkins' living room exactly as she had described it. Including one detail she had left out. Rachel Watkins sat at her sister's feet clutching one of Samantha's legs and looking somewhat frightened. Samantha had an anxious look on her face as well. Irene was practically without expression as she sat. On weak legs, he staggered back into the night. __Now a few words from Hildie!She knew he was there. She always knew but kept it to herself. No need to embarrass him. He seemed nice enough. Besides, she enjoyed being watched. The voyeur/exhibitionist dynamic fit together perfectly like cream cheese frosting on a Cinnabon but with four-thousand fewer calories. And she had yet to hear of a correlation between masturbation and diabetes.Her fingers slid between her swollen lips before locating her. The knuckles of his fingers grew white as they gripped the edge of the table.Mandas uttered a dramatic sigh. "Fine. You have your orders. Get out of my sight."Marris bolted to his feet, the chair tipping back, saved from a crash to the floor by a frantic grab. He remembered himself just as he was about to turn away and bowed his head to Mandas before he fled.Mandas waited until the servant had left, then exited the establishment himself, wrinkling his nose as a breeze blew off the tilled.
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