He was impressed, but said it was a lot of money just to listen to music.“Yeah, but I got a good deal on it, and sometimes I would set a bunch of songs to play as I was writing something. It’s kinda nice, being able to select a bunch of songs I want to hear when I want to hear them.”“Yeah, just don’t expect music from a computer to ever replace albums or tapes.” We all laughed, and I headed upstairs to get ready. I threw on some slacks and a polo shirt. Then after shaving put on some Stetson, remembering how Becky had liked it last time. Then I sat and read the rest of the chapter of Mouse before it was time for me to head out.I looked up the address in the Thomas Guide, and it was only a few blocks from where Becky worked. Soon I was pulling up in front of a small house, and saw it was the address. Becky smiled when she opened the door, and asked me if steaks were alright. I told her of course it was, and when I walked her to my truck. I opened the door for her, and once she sat she. Her eyes were still unfocused, her mind barely aware of where she was -- only that she was next to her sister. Her mistress. Her owner.Poor little rich girls, Cindy and Linda. Daddy passed away when they were only two, not even a memory in their heads, known only by his appearance in the family photos, and the big portrait hanging over the fireplace mantle back home, in the family mansion. Mama had no time for them, being always away on some trip, whether for one of her many charitable causes or just on a vacation. Taking babies along would have been inconvenient. And by the time the girls were older, Mama had not acquired the habit of thinking about them as traveling companions. Raised by nannies, educated at boarding schools, as the girls entered adulthood they were entirely independent of all family ties. Except, of course, money. Something they never had to worry about.Finding something interesting to do -- that was another matter.They had played little "follow the leader" games.
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