Chetspeak on Sunday
“Bernie!” She threw her arms around him, a big woman and not that much shorter than Bernie.
“Hi, Livia.” I could see Bernie’d had enough of hugging after a while, but Livia didn’t let go till she was good and ready.
She stepped back, still gripping Bernie’s upper arms, in fact, giving them a little squeeze. “You look just great,” she said.
“Uh, no, um, thanks,” Bernie said, which made Livia laugh, a nice big sound, not a boomer like Uncle Rio’s but impressive for a woman. “And you, too,” Bernie said.
“Oh, go on,” she said. “I’ve put on so much weight.”
“No, no, no,” Bernie said. “And it suits you.”
Livia laughed again. “Those are mutually exclusive, Bernie. Pick one, preferably the first.”
“Um,” Bernie said, and then he was laughing, too.
“Tulip?” she said. The young woman on the sofa tossed her magazine aside and rose right away. “A nice big bourbon on the rocks for Bernie here, and a small one for moi,” Livia said. Tulip went behind the bar, reached for a bottle.
“Sweetie?” Livia said. “We’re pouring from the top shelf tonight.”
– from TO FETCH A THIEF.
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