Time for what? Frank thinks, because lunch for Donna is a raw carrot slice, a piece of lettuce, and maybe a beet or something. Then again, it’s why she’s pushing fifty and looks more like mid-thirties, and why she still has the Vegas showgirl body. Long, thin legs, no waist, and a balcony that, while big, isn’t in danger of collapsing. Combine all that with her flame red hair, green eyes, a face to die for, and a personality to match, and it’s little wonder he brings her a cappuccino every time he’s passing through.

And flowers once a week.

And something shiny on Christmas and birthdays.

Donna is a high-maintenance broad, as she will readily admit.

Frank understands this-high quality and high maintenance go together. Donna takes good care of Donna and she expects Frank to do the same. Not that Donna is a kept woman. Far from it. She put away most of her money from her showgirl days, moved to San Diego, and opened her pricey boutique. Not a lot of inventory, but what she has is top quality and very stylish, and attracts a loyal customer base, mostly from San Diego Ladies Who Lunch.

“You should move the shop to La Jolla,” he told her.

“You know the rents in La Jolla?” she replied.

“But most of your customers are in La Jolla.”

“They can drive ten minutes,” she said.

She’s right, Frank thinks. And they do drive to her shop. Right now, there are two ladies inspecting the racks and another one in a changing room. And it doesn’t hurt that Donna wears her own merchandise and looks stunning.

If the store was empty, Frank thinks, I’d like to take her into one of those fitting rooms and…

She reads the glint in his eye.

“You’re too busy and so am I,” she says.

“I know.”

“But what are you doing later?”

He feels a little twinge in his groin. Donna never fails to do that to him, and they’ve been together-what, eight years?