"It is a big bridge party and I am going to sit beside Mr. Teel."
Mr. Teel is an aging squire who lives in the lush Genesee bottom land and can't keep his hands off. I was laughing. I was also biting back the desire to tell her to drive to Buffalo and grab the night plane.
"The trouble," I said, "with ladies and Mr. Teel is that they fidget and flush, squirm and put up with it. Personally, I think they like it."
"Should I scream?"
"Lord, no. Worst possible technique. When you bid six spades and start playing it and you notice something on your knee of about the weight of a man's hand, there are three good possibilities. Relax and enjoy it. This is what I recommend. However, you can also idly lower the tip of your cigarette and apply it. The third, very good, move is to lean forward as if staring myopically at the dummy—reach under the table yourself—and grab back in a way Mr. Teel will never forget."
"You know everything, don't you?"
"Need you ask?"
"Except that we're wasting a lot of money on Long Distance. Are you sure you're all right?"
Women's ears! "Yeah."
"Then good night."