Matilda remained where she was, her softness pressing into Betsy’s back. Betsy was unworried – she would ride with the flow, it Matilda hungered for something she would give it to her, and why not? Matilda had acted as her champion at the funeral and afterwards, she deserved to be rewarded. Whether she wanted a reward in flesh was not yet clear. ‘Bee-bop, bee-bop.’ Betsy pulled away. ‘Excuse me Matilda dear, but this is no ordinary call. It’s on my secure phone.’ As they broke apart Matilda ran a hand down Betsy’s cheek and looked at her extremely affectionately. God, she wants flesh all right, concluded Betsy, feeling a tiny rush blood to her midsection. ‘Betsy,’ she said, answering the call. ‘Right, nice one.’ ‘Wait. I need a ride home. Can you come to Matilda McBride’s. Spur Road, number 27, you two should meet. ‘Right.’ Betsy went to her handbag and pulled out a comb. ‘That was Mike Street. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. You two should meet. As part of my camouflage he had. She put the flimsy garment in his hand and pushed himforward. Once he was in there he attempted to think matters through, butcouldn't separate his pathological need from the sacrifices he had tomake. The two ideas had become inextricably tangled together. Unhappily,he got out of his clothes, aware that on the other side of the curtain wasa roomful of women. Evan slipped into the garment, surprised by how itfelt against his waxed skin. It was strangely appealing. He told himselfthat the effect was only because he associated it with the fun that was tocome. Sure, that was it. Parting the curtain a scant inch, he called tohis wife in a tight whisper, "Okay, Tyra. Take a peek into the booth."His wife strode over and tugged back the curtain, putting him on display. He yelped and threw his arms across his body, a forearm over his chest anda hand covering his crotch. It was the classic female pose of modesty.The noise he had made drew plenty of unwanted interest. Everyone.
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