“You know,” Lanie says to me, “guys are just pathetic. I get questions about Amanda and me all the time.”
Amanda is the girl she rooms with. What kind of questions could she be getting?
“What kind of questions do you get?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Well, you know…” Her eyebrows rise a smarmy faction of an inch and her mouth curves in an unconscious imitation of a come-hither smile on the lips of an imaginary inquisitor. She quotes in a fake, sarcastic baritone: “ ‘So, what do you guys do when you’re all alone?’ ”
I shake my head and chuckle. “What do you say to that?”
She rolls her eyes. “What can I say?” she asks, and then in a thin bimbo voice, with a flutter of eyelashes and a giggle, answers: “ ‘Oh, we just lounge around in sexy underwear and have pillow fights.’ ”
She seems suprised when I burst out laughing.