Vicky Banning by Allen McGill Read Free Book Online

heard.”
    Vicky grinned. “I think I can take care of myself.”
    Doris returned her smile. “Of that I have no doubt. No doubt at all.”
    * * * *
     
    “Something wrong?” Roger asked as they followed the path to the street, Vicky’s arm linked in his. “You look worried.”
    “No,” Vicky answered with a vague softness. “Not worried.” Her thoughts were on Sarah and how she’d been avoided by the Sanctuary’s members the night before. Vicky disliked snoopers intensely, but hadn’t meant to be the cause of someone’s being ostracized. If Sarah hadn’t been so devious — well, Vicky wouldn’t have told her the truth anyway—the truth was too deeply personal—but perhaps she wouldn’t have made the race-change story quite so convincing. It wasn’t actually meant to be believed, for gosh sakes; they should all have gotten a bit of a laugh out of it, while Sarah got the message that Vicky’s business was Vicky’s business. She shook her head, dismissing the matter for the time being. She, like Scarlett O’Hara, would think about it tomorrow—at Tara .
    She looked up at Roger. “I was just wondering if Playgirl received my change of address in time,” she said with renewed brightness. “Ever read it?” She kept her eyes straight ahead, biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling.
    Roger grinned slyly, watching her from the corners of his eyes. In a sing-song voice he said, “You’re fishing.”
    Vicky sang back, “You’re right.”
    Roger laughed. “Well, at least you’re honest. But why are you so interested?” he asked as they reached the car. It was a small, Chevy station wagon, metallic green, with a Penn State decal on the rear window.
    “I’m interested in everything,” Vicky answered. “People, places, animals, art, relationships, you name it. I admit that your personal life is none of my business, but that doesn’t stop me from being interested. I enjoy learning about people, what they’re really like, how they think…but for the sake of knowing them alone, not for syndication to gossip mongers. Do you live alone?”
    “Well, that was subtle,” Roger said, opening the door and holding it for Vicky to slip inside. “And the answer is ‘no,’ I do not live alone.’” He closed the door, circled the car and settled himself on the driver’s side. “I have a roommate.”
    “Isn’t that a coincidence, ” Vicky exclaimed as Roger started the car and drove along the tree-lined street. “I had a roommate, too…for years and years when I lived in the States. Our son’s name is Keith.”
    Roger’s lower lip swept up and outward and the cheek, the one Vicky could see, sank between his teeth, laugh lines crinkling the corner of his eye. “Our little girl’s name is Muffin,” he said, and paused. “She’s a Yorkshire Terrier. Anything else you’d like to know?”
    “Of course! ” Vicky cried. “ Lots of things ! What’s your roommate’sname? What does he do…for a living, I mean?”
    Roger’s look of surprise was obviously feigned. “Who said my roommate is a he? ”
    Vicky was growing impatient. “Oh, please,” she complained. “Stop being so closety . This is the 1980's, and I lived with show people all my life. Gerald used to call me the Queen Mother. Personally, I don’t care who you sleep with”—she put on her little girl coquette voice—“unless, of course, you might want to hop into the sack with me.” She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously and reached across the seat to squeeze his kneecap. His leg jerked convulsively, nearly propelling the car through a STOP sign before he slammed on the brakes. The look of shock on his face made her laugh uproariously. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, finally. “I’m not going to ravish you. In all my life, I’ve slept with only one man, and I’m not about to break my record at seventy-three.”
    Roger turned to her, affecting a stern frown, then joined her in laughter. “I was going to