The image of Jacky attempting to intimidate Francesca with a whip made Oliver burst out laughing. "No," he said, sputtering, "no." Francesca gave him a curious look. "Good looking woman, though," he went on. "Not as beautiful as you."
She accepted this without comment. It was a quality Oliver liked in her. Francesca was beautiful. She knew it and didn't make a fuss about it.
"I want the money to have a purpose outside myself," he said. "Seriously—it would help me. It makes me feel better. I'm going to get some work as soon as I can, so that I don't spend it. I have the form right here." He held his bag under the umbrella and pulled out the form. "If I can keep it from getting soaked . . ." He reached into his pocket for a ballpoint pen. "Can I write on your back? I mean, use your back? 'BOISVERTE.'" He said the letters as he wrote them. "What's your social security number?"
She hesitated and then told him. "A very nice number," he said.
"I've always thought so. It will be especially nice if I make it to retirement age."
"All you have to do is sign," Oliver said. "Here." He handed her the pen and swiveled his body so that she could use his back.
"Yi! What am I doing?" The pen moved firmly across his shoulder blade.
"A good thing, that's what you're doing—what we're doing," Oliver said, putting the application in the bag.
"Cute pen," she said.
"It's a space pen—writes upside down or in zero gravity. NASA uses it."