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Show Bobbie's House of Furs 51 heavy thud over the PA system. At that moment, Angela found herself staring into the eyes of a man with curried sideburns, mustache, and a f u l l head of glossy black hair. He wore a green apron over black slacks, a white shirt with roulette wheel cuff links, and a stick pin with a gold ball at each end between the points of his collar. "Hello, baby," he said, his voice deep with experience, smoke drifting out of his nose and mouth. Angela had a fleeting sense of the devil and a concrete sense of guilt. She had violated church standards and her parents' wishes. She started to walk away from the man in the green apron. "Hey, come back here." When she turned, she saw his eyes square on hers. "You're beautiful," he said. Angela f e l t suddenly as i f she might squeak. "Turn around again," he said. "I might be interested." Angela automatically turned again as her modeling teacher had told her to do when they had their lesson on tearoom procedures. The man had long black eyelashes that dusted his cheeks with every slow blink. He had a long, cool stare that burned into her lungs. "My g i r l f r i e nd likes leopard things," he said as Angela teetered on her heels with straps that wound around her ankles and f e l t like binding cords. Angela cleared her throat. "The bathing suit cover sells for $125, the swimming suit is $52." She reached into her l e f t palm where she held |