Francesca laughed. "She said that she checked you
out. She had hopes for you, but she said that the two of you were
incompatible for the long run."
"Uh--she's right."
"Don't be embarrassed," Francesca said. "How else were you going to
find out? Look, I love Jacky, but I wouldn't want to be married to her."
The image of Jacky attempting to intimidate Francesca with a whip made
Oliver burst out laughing. "No," he said, sputtering, "no." Francesca
gave him a curious look. "Good looking woman, though," he went on. "Not
as beautiful as you."
She accepted this without comment. It was a quality Oliver liked in
her. Francesca _was_ beautiful. She knew it and didn't make a fuss
about it.
"I want the money to have a purpose outside myself," he said.
"Seriously--it would help me. It makes me feel better. I'm going to get
some work as soon as I can, so that I don't spend it. I have the form
right here." He held his bag under the umbrella and pulled out the
form. "If I can keep it from getting soaked . . ." He reached into his
pocket for a ballpoint pen. "Can I write on your back? I mean, use your
back? 'BOISVERTE.'" He said the letters as he wrote them.
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