Page 62 - Billy Graham in Heaven

The Promised Land Pub
55
said, “The America sad are you. Needing ecstasy constant. Leisure you talk, frenzy you act, as if on fire your life is.”
“Best I can tell,” said Newt, “you’re trying to tell a decadent Southerner how to play. Besides, booze and broads are not such a bad way to go.”
“Okay,” sighed Greta. “Hasta la wiedersehen.” She touched Newt’s hand and left. He watched her closely as she glided out. With each step her hips would slowly slide way over and seem to come to a stop. But not. Then they’d start a long journey to the other side and seem to stop but not. He whistled. She smiled, waived, and walked into the other room.
Newt turned back to the bar and told his neighbor: “Shew! If not for my reflexes I’d have been beat up or married years ago.” Then he spied Carol, an old acquaintance, and hustled over to ask her, “How’s the business of seeking meaning in this hell that’s other people?”
“Not so good,” Carol replied. “I’m making record profits but I’m thinking of switching from the Dow Jones to the Tao.” She swished her blond bangs, dipped her head and gave Newt a mature pout. This emphasized her high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and low-cut dress.
“Yes, people scamper like Merrill Lynch bulls charging in a Venetian crystal shop,” Newt agreed, trying to look beyond Carol’s extensive cleavage. “If you could inject the Southern charm of leisure into your harried pace, I think you’d be feeling better.”
Carol was impressed. Her endless brokering anxieties had caused her to begin dreaming of a new Galahad to take her away. “Gone With the Wind does sound better