Or, "I'd like to go into town and pick up some bla bla-bla."

Other than stuff like that, she really doesn't have a heck of a lot to say to him, especially now that her personal relationship with their shared employer has just gotten as personal as it gets.

She showers and changes into a sunbacked dress.

And goes out to check the garden.

Muslin, she will need, she notes.

The air is too dry, the sun too hot, rain too far off.

She must water the tomatos but not cook their leaves in the sun.

And merely filling in the troughs between rows with the hose is not yet effective; the roots are too short, too far away to reach the water level.

So that she must drape the tomato stakes with muslin, thus providing shade and retarding evaporation.

Yes, she requires bolts of muslin gauze.

Eric will have to drive her.

"Tonight. You will take care of it for tonight."

"You got it, Randy."

And Eric looks down at Randy's cock, wet from the pool, slack from his recent fucking.

"The gas cylinders are all set in the ventilation ducts, Randy. The timers are fixed for one thirty tomorrow morning."

"And the smelling salts?

"No good unless she knows what's happening, y'know."

"In my robe, Randy."

"And the knock-out gas?"

"Cranston has that."

"You've checked it out, as far as smoothness of operation?"

"Tied down? Three of us? I don't see that there'll be any prob-"

Eric stops speaking as Randy signals with his eyes.

He turns, to see Daisy approaching.

"Can Eric take me over to the garden shop, Randy?

"I need some muslim bunting for-"

"You need it, you need it, my dear, for whatever reason.

"That's all I have to know.

"Eric, take Daisy wherever to do whatever."

And he turns away, buttocks extended as though mooning them, and dives back into the pool.