Breakfast At Bethany's. Kathleen O'Reilly
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matter of time. Men and women didn’t operate on the same levels, and for some men, like Spencer, they never would. It was a lesson best learned early in life before they all bankrupted you.
Harry continued, “There used to be a time when I could ramble off forty-three synonyms for ‘lost.’ What’s happening to me?”
“Marry Joan and you’ll come up with eighty-seven synonyms for ‘murder.’ I’ve got a list. Why the itch to ‘hoist a few’? She leaving you alone tonight?”
“She’s flying to New York to shop,” Harry replied glumly.
Spencer raised his eyebrows.
“Daddy’s paying,” answered Harry, which was a better answer than “Spencer’s paying.”
“I can’t,” Spence replied, his eyes fixed firmly on the computer screen in front of him.
“Come on,” said Harry, in a tone that smacked of desperation.
“I have plans,” he said.
“A date?”
“No.”
Harry folded his hands across his chest and sat down on the corner of the desk. A bad sign, indicating immovability.
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