Flopping onto the bed, I selected Sara’s mobile number from my contact list on the phone. She answered after three rings.
“It’s me, honey bunch,” I said into the phone.
“I know,” Sara said. “Phones now come with this amazing feature, caller I.D.”
“Sure, but I just wanted to call you honey bunch.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. What’s up, sugarplum?”
“Remember the case I told you about yesterday, the one for Liz Harper’s New York lawyer friend?”
“How could I forget? I hate it when you work for that tart.”
“Well, technically, I’m working for the New York guy, not Liz. She only recommended me for the job.”
“Sure, so she could summon you to her hoity-toity office and try to seduce you like she always does.”
“Sweetie pie, you know Liz can’t hold a candle to you,” I said.
“It doesn’t stop her from always trying to drag you into her bed.”
“Her passions are made of nothing,” I said. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you. What is light, if Sara be not seen? What is joy if Sara be not by?”
“Okay, enough of Shakespeare, and I know you substituted my name for Sylvia in the last one. I also read The Two Gentlemen of Verona back in college. And, I know you gape at Liz Harper’s legs every chance you get while salivating hideously like Pavlov’s dogs.”
“Yes, but love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. I’m a simple man, and like all men, I’m visual. Looking with the eyes is not love, so there’s no harm in looking. It’s no different from looking at and appreciating a beautiful sunset or work of art.”
“Yes, it’s very different, my friend. Liz Harper’s legs and thighs, which I know she also shamelessly flashes at you, are not sunsets nor works of art. But I know you won’t stop looking, so let’s not dwell on it.”
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