“Lovely. So what are you wearing?” the voice in her ear asked.
“Mmm, a white ribbed tank top. The thin, classic kind.”
“A wife beater?”
“Oh. My. Gawd. I can’t believe you said that. That’s so politically incorrect. I hate it when women call them ‘wife beaters’. It’s just wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.”
Her voice rose to a breathy moan on the last “wrong”.
Then there was nothing on the line but the ambient hiss of distant contact.
“I am. Are you done?
“Yeah . . . I think I’ll go now.”
Cassie hung up the phone.