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"As I said, that's a skill I don't have. So maybe I should hire it."
This gave me a mental image of Rita...together with Deborah.
My heart thumped, and my p.j.s tented. "Yesterday," I said hoarsely, "How many?"
"Nineteen," she said, with a tiny smile. Then she picked up from her nightstand the large blue feathered mask and the red wig. "And they were real men, not losers with dinky dicks." She donned the wig and mask.
"When does it go live?" I asked urgently.
"Five-thirty tomorrow," she said, slinking onto all fours like a predator. "But use your imagination, surf bum."
She seized my pajama bottom and shredded it in one loud, satisfying rip.
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