Lyle went to see Ursula this morning, and she was gracious enough to receive him into her house. He promises he’ll tell us about the interaction, but he has something else to relate first. After his meeting with Ursula, he’s about to get into his truck to leave when this tall, leggy blond clamors out of a red BMW and slithers over to Lyle. She looks Lyle over lazily, wondering if he’s Mom’s latest. Because if he is, she tells him, he’s a definite improvement over hubby number three. The blond laughed throatily, leaning forward so he could look down her low-cut sweater. Despite the chilly temperatures, she wasn’t wearing a jacket. Her cranberry-colored sweater clung to every generous curves, while her white jeans left little to the imagination. Her blond hair draped seductively down her back as she batted her lashes at him. Apparently, she thought of herself as a modern-day vamp. Owing to her young age—late teens—and Lyle’s proclivities, she came off as more pathetic than sexy.
He simply said he’s not Ursula’s lover, and there’s a flicker of disappointment in the blond woman’s eyes. She didn’t back down, however, as she introduced herself. She’s Lois, the prodigal daughter, the one who gave her mother so much grief. As Lois talked, she laughed deeply, thrusting out her hip at the same time. Lyle stared at her for a long minute without saying a word. Mistaking his stare for interest, Lois winked, moving closer to Lyle. He felt her fake breasts pressing against his chest, but didn’t move away. She rubbed against him for a few minutes, a patented lascivious look on her face. Lyle continued to stare at her without smiling. Unnerved, she backed off.
When Lyle was sure that he had her attention, he told her that he was Paris’s lover, adding that he was sure she knew who Paris was. Lyle watched Lois carefully as he pronounced Paris’s name. She started, unable to cover a flicker of surprise which crossed her face, then tried to cover by saying it was a city in France. Lyle continued his silent stare. Either she was the kind of girl used to men talking to hear their own voices, or she’s merely uncomfortable with silence because she babbled about ‘the Greek god who stole Helen of Troy. Or was he Roman? I always get them mixed up.’ She smiled again, but there’s a tinge of nervousness this time. Lyle and Lois locked eyes. For a minute, it looked as if Lois would just leave, but she caved.