away.
Startled, I opened my eyes.
It was Sam—the guy who’d introduced Rachael at the presentation.
Chapter Eight
“ H ello , Sam Richardson,” I said, feeding Rose as much information as I could. “That was a wonderful introduction you gave last night at the organized crime presentation .”
Sam stared at me as if wondering who I was.
Rose threw me a faintly amused look. “Excellent introduction, Sam. Best one I ever had.”
“What the hell happened to you, Rachael? Why’d you rush off like that? You had everyone worried sick.”
“Something came up.”
“That’s it? Something came up?”
Rose forked a rogue waffle square into her mouth and washed it down with a swish of grapefruit juice. I winced a little.
Still chewing, she said, “Pretty much. Thanks, Sam.” Then she grinned and wiggled her toes against my nether regions.
Sam said to me, “Please excuse me.” He turned to Rose, his expression stern. “You realize we have to revoke your speaking fee. Your attitude convinces me we’re perfectly justified in our decision. And you’ve pretty much burned every bridge you ever had with the association.”
Rose said, “Excuse me too, Dan,” and speared Sam with an appraising eye. “In a couple of minutes, I’m gonna take that tall drink of sexual satisfaction to my room and find out how many licks it takes to get to my soft candy center. Now, unless you’re paying for this wonderful breakfast, kindly go fuck yourself.”
Sam stared at her, mouth agape. He shook his head slowly, turned around, and walked out of the restaurant.
It had been a long time since I’d been publicly embarrassed, but I was now. What she’d said to that guy was awful. He obviously knew Rachael, had some sort of relationship with her, and Rose had ruined it.
“What’s the matter, Dan,” she said in a pouty tone. “You upset with me?”
“A little,” I said, not bothering to hide it.
Rose sighed. “I’m not gonna have that guy lumping along bothering me for three weeks. Bothering us . Besides, he didn’t know me—he was an associate, that’s all. I have a sense for these things. I’m much better at this than you.”
“You could have said you were feeling sick and now you’re better. Not like he’ll set up a new meeting for you. You know, when you’re gone, Rachael’s—”
“I know, I know, but she’s my skin . That’s what they’re called, by the way. Skins , not rides.”
Skins? A repulsive name. I preferred my term.
Rose said, “How many soul gates have you been through?”
“Soul gates?” I said, smiling despite myself. “A little dramatic, don’t you think? I usually call them portals. Or doorways, if I’m waxing poetical. Lots of them. Why?”
“It takes a while before the goody-goody types start arriving. Even then, they’re pretty rare. But when they do, they’re definitely recognizable.”
I leaned forward. I’d been through two such portals. Once, into Nate Cantrell, the lotto winner. The second time, my ex-girlfriend’s stupid husband, Peter. All my other rides had been standard issue awful.
“That’s been my experience too,” I said.
Rose gave my groin a final tweak and pulled her foot back. “Take it from an old pro: whoever Rachael is, she’s not one of the good ones.”
Not quite ready to give up, I said, “Sometimes the Great Whomever’s tricky. Sometimes he throws wildcards or messes things up.”
“What the heck is a great whoever?”
I wondered what she called him. I didn’t think the Great Whomever was God, and referred to him as him primarily for convenience. That and I couldn’t imagine a her bringing me back after the hell I’d put my ex-girlfriend, Sandra, through.
“The one in charge of this whole thing,” I said, gesturing vaguely around us. “Life again. Other people’s bodies. Killers and all that. Surely you’ve seen how directed this is, haven’t you?”
Rose covered her mouth. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “You think
Startled, I opened my eyes.
It was Sam—the guy who’d introduced Rachael at the presentation.
Chapter Eight
“ H ello , Sam Richardson,” I said, feeding Rose as much information as I could. “That was a wonderful introduction you gave last night at the organized crime presentation .”
Sam stared at me as if wondering who I was.
Rose threw me a faintly amused look. “Excellent introduction, Sam. Best one I ever had.”
“What the hell happened to you, Rachael? Why’d you rush off like that? You had everyone worried sick.”
“Something came up.”
“That’s it? Something came up?”
Rose forked a rogue waffle square into her mouth and washed it down with a swish of grapefruit juice. I winced a little.
Still chewing, she said, “Pretty much. Thanks, Sam.” Then she grinned and wiggled her toes against my nether regions.
Sam said to me, “Please excuse me.” He turned to Rose, his expression stern. “You realize we have to revoke your speaking fee. Your attitude convinces me we’re perfectly justified in our decision. And you’ve pretty much burned every bridge you ever had with the association.”
Rose said, “Excuse me too, Dan,” and speared Sam with an appraising eye. “In a couple of minutes, I’m gonna take that tall drink of sexual satisfaction to my room and find out how many licks it takes to get to my soft candy center. Now, unless you’re paying for this wonderful breakfast, kindly go fuck yourself.”
Sam stared at her, mouth agape. He shook his head slowly, turned around, and walked out of the restaurant.
It had been a long time since I’d been publicly embarrassed, but I was now. What she’d said to that guy was awful. He obviously knew Rachael, had some sort of relationship with her, and Rose had ruined it.
“What’s the matter, Dan,” she said in a pouty tone. “You upset with me?”
“A little,” I said, not bothering to hide it.
Rose sighed. “I’m not gonna have that guy lumping along bothering me for three weeks. Bothering us . Besides, he didn’t know me—he was an associate, that’s all. I have a sense for these things. I’m much better at this than you.”
“You could have said you were feeling sick and now you’re better. Not like he’ll set up a new meeting for you. You know, when you’re gone, Rachael’s—”
“I know, I know, but she’s my skin . That’s what they’re called, by the way. Skins , not rides.”
Skins? A repulsive name. I preferred my term.
Rose said, “How many soul gates have you been through?”
“Soul gates?” I said, smiling despite myself. “A little dramatic, don’t you think? I usually call them portals. Or doorways, if I’m waxing poetical. Lots of them. Why?”
“It takes a while before the goody-goody types start arriving. Even then, they’re pretty rare. But when they do, they’re definitely recognizable.”
I leaned forward. I’d been through two such portals. Once, into Nate Cantrell, the lotto winner. The second time, my ex-girlfriend’s stupid husband, Peter. All my other rides had been standard issue awful.
“That’s been my experience too,” I said.
Rose gave my groin a final tweak and pulled her foot back. “Take it from an old pro: whoever Rachael is, she’s not one of the good ones.”
Not quite ready to give up, I said, “Sometimes the Great Whomever’s tricky. Sometimes he throws wildcards or messes things up.”
“What the heck is a great whoever?”
I wondered what she called him. I didn’t think the Great Whomever was God, and referred to him as him primarily for convenience. That and I couldn’t imagine a her bringing me back after the hell I’d put my ex-girlfriend, Sandra, through.
“The one in charge of this whole thing,” I said, gesturing vaguely around us. “Life again. Other people’s bodies. Killers and all that. Surely you’ve seen how directed this is, haven’t you?”
Rose covered her mouth. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “You think
Similar Books
