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“She was pretty adamant when she left before. No, I think she might have talked to her fiancée and he might have suggested something for her to con...ider or ask of us or present to us.”“Now you say it, I think you may be right, probably are right. At any rate I guess we’ll be finding out shortly,” he said.“Yes,” she said.Well, since my less than wonderful visit with my daughter—she was that whether she wanted to be or not—I had heard not a single word from her or anybody else about anything. There were kids. There were schedules to keep for both ourselves and our families, and the reality of the situation was that there really wasnt a chance that this was ever going to happen, not without at the very least raising suspicions, or worse, getting caught. Oh well, we laughed, well always have the memories. And they were good. Now I understand as well as anyone the law of diminishing returns. It affects us all. And it started to have its effect on our conversations. At first, the. I’m sure I lost everything. I don’t know where I’d live around there, not to mention the job situation.”“Hon,” she said, “You’re an RN. You can HAVE a job.”“Agency,” I said. “Played that game.”“Uh ... Buddy? Mister Fontenot? Your boyfriend?” she asked.“Three days ago I was sitting on a rooftop with water up to the eaves at my feet. Buddy Fontenot came up the street in his fishing boat and rescued me and my neighbors. I helped him rescue a couple dozen more people that day. He gave me a place to. Sandra Rollason was the mistress of the unspoken, tall, elegant and extremely wealthy. She had invited me to an interview. I am a journalist and I had been commissioned to do a series of interviews of wealthy businesswomen for her magazine. I’d suggested that she might herself be a subject and, to my surprise she'd agreed when her editor had mooted the idea. Her office was spare, nothing to tell you about her, no pictures, no artwork, nothing. Her desk was large, like a billiard table, almost.
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