Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? Read Online Free

works for her. I know.
        "J. Edgar Hoover!" Pamela said.
        "I hope you didn't sound like such a ninny when you were talking to him," the Judge said. "Pamela, he calls me all the time. But usually at home in the evening. We're old friends. It's nothing to get excited about. Now put him on the line."
        "Yes, ma'am."
        Then: "Edgar. Hello, darling. What's the weather like there?… Yes, it's a beautiful fall day here, too. How's Clyde?… Well, that's very thoughtful of you, Edgar, and I appreciate it… I'll be in New York all Christmas week; I'll just fly down to Washington for your New Year's Eve party… You mean when I was showing you how to rhumba? Don't be silly. I wasn't hurt at all. I was just limping to make a joke! You're a wonderful dancer, Edgar. My Lord, everybody knows that… Well, thank you very much for the invitation. But I'm sure we'll talk before then."
        She hung up.
        "Excuse me if I sound like a ninny too," I said, "but was that really J. Edgar Hoover?"
        "No, McCain, it was an imitator I hired just to shake up Pamela." A sip of brandy. A deep drag on the Gauloise. "Of course it was. He's an old family friend." She leaned forward and somehow the angle revealed the girl in the woman. She was suddenly back in sixth grade and whispering a secret to the boy across the aisle. "Between us, he's the most brutal dancer to ever set foot on a floor. I spent twenty minutes teaching him the rhumba and two weeks recovering. My foot probably should've been in a cast. On the other hand, his friend Clyde could give Fred Astaire a few pointers. He's great." Another sip. Another drag. "Now, where were we?"
        "I was going to tell you what I found out about Harold Giddins."
        "Oh, that's right. But before you do, I want to say that you look terribly hung over this morning."
        "I got a bit carried away last night."
        "A little fellow like you has to be careful."
        "Thank you."
        "No offense intended. But you're obviously not a drinker." She said this, taking yet another sip of her brandy. It was 10:32 in the A.M. "Before we get to Giddins, I had a very strange call this morning from Dana Conners. She said Richard talked to you yesterday about somebody trying to kill him."
        I hesitated, knowing that Conners didn't want me to acknowledge this to anybody. But I didn't have any choice. "Yes."
        "And exactly when were you going to tell me about this?"
        "As soon as I thought it was appropriate."
        "I'm going to give him some hell for not telling me first, you can bet on that."
        Then she did it. First time this morning. Brought her hand up, a rubber band strung between her thumb and forefinger. Like a bow and arrow. She shot the rubber band, and it got me right on the forehead and hung there. The hangover had left me with damp skin that acted as an adhesive.
        "There's another reason you shouldn't drink, McCain. Slows your reflexes. You look damned silly with that rubber band on your forehead, believe me. Now swipe it away."
        I swiped it away.
        "That's the case I want you to concentrate on. Richard's, I mean. As you know, I don't have any liking for his tolerance but we have so many friends in common, he's - "
        "He's a Brahmin."
        "I beg your pardon."
        "He's a peer. Acceptable to your little circle of rich people."
        "It's rich people who built this country."
        "Yes, on the backs of poor whites, Negroes, Mexicans, and Chinese, mostly."
        "Now you sound like Richard."
        "I don't care for the man personally, but I do agree with some of his ideas."
        "You don't care for Richard? You're both sort of… commies, McCain. No offense."
        The way she said commies was actually sort of cute. Always just the slightest hesitation before saying it. As if she were going to get her mouth washed out with soap as soon as she uttered