Caper [antikvár]

how it all beganI was in bed with J. Mark Hamilton, my brother-in-law. We had spent the night together because my sister, Laura, was in Park Central, recovering from plastic surgery. She'd had her tits elevated.So there we were in the morning, J. Mark and me, his unshaved jowls scraping at me. ' 'Bon appétit, ' ' I murmured, and then the phone rang.It was Sol Faber, my literary agent.Lawrence Sanders"Morning, doll," he said brightly. "We got a meet with] the man at tennish. Remember?"That's the way Sol talks."I remember," I said. As a matter of fact, I had forgotten. I have that frailty: I lose the remembrance of unpleasant coming events.Sol told me to meet him in the lobby of Binder Publications a few minutes before ten. Then we hung up. My brother-in-law raised his bald head to stare at me."Who was that?" he demanded."Your wife," I said. "She asked me to remind you to pick up the drycleaning."His face went white before he realized I was ribbing him. J. Mark is not the fastest wit in the world. He does, though, possess certain skills, even if I don't allow him between my sheets solely because of them. It's a form of hostility directed against my sister. Laura is the pretty, blond, petite one. I am constructed more along the lines of a Marine drill instructor, and I have a profile that belongs on postage stamps.In all modesty, I am not a gorgon, but I am large. Five-ten, to be exact. J. Mark Hamilton was my sister's height: five-four. Like most tall women I inspire dreams of conquest in short males. Simply, I suppose, because we're there.I am extraordinarily slender, but hardly fragile. My breasts are not as large as Laura's, lifted or descended, but I have strength in my shoulders, arms, back, and legs. I work at it: jogging, yoga, swimming, sex. My health is indecently good.I wear my hair quite short. It is a rather indeterminate shade of dark brown. My eyes are brown too.I am twenty-eight years old, and was bom in Lima, Peru, where my father was serving as consul. Laura, who is three years younger, was bom in Paris. Of course. She would be.