“Okay, let’s assume for a second, a second, that you are who you say you are.”
Valerie and Michelle climbed into her metallic-gold colored BMW Roadster.
“Nice ride.” Michelle commented as she settled into the leather bucket seat, then slid it all the way back for her long legs.
“A high-school graduation guilt-gift from my dad. He ran off with his secretary and Mom’s inheritance when I was six.”
Michelle stroked the dashboard appreciatively. “Sometimes guilt pays.”
“That’s the way I figured it. Mom wasn’t happy about it, but then she was never happy about much. Last I heard she was in Italy, living with some dog of a Hollywood producer, but he apparently keeps her in a style of exceptional comfort.” She shrugged. “We don’t talk much.”
“Back to the assumption that I am who I say I am?”
