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everyone.
    "Hey, boys." I greeted them with a broad smile. Ricky beamed at me and shook his shopping bag for me to notice. "What did you get?" I asked excitedly.
    "We went to the Virgin Megastore , Stephanie. I got a poster," Ricky said.
    Virgin Megastore. An oxymoron if ever I'd heard one. "A poster, you say? That's nice." I turned to Gus. "Of whom?"
    "Sheryl Crow," Ricky volunteered excitedly.
    "Oh? I didn't know you liked her." I gave Lido a puzzled look.
    "She's great," Ricky informed me, most matter of fact. "Can I get a corndog?"
    I shrugged. "I don't see why not. Do you need money?"
    "No, I've got money," Ricky replied. "Can I?"
    "Go ahead. We'll wait for you right here."
    Ricky bounded off happily.
    "He's enjoying the mall," Lido said.
    "I can see that. Corn dogs and girly posters—life is good. What's up with Sheryl Crow?"
    "He likes her music."
    "So why didn't you suggest that he buy a CD?"
    "Come on, you know there's nothing like a beautiful woman running her hands up and down the neck of an electric guitar."
    "There isn't?"
    "It's erotic," he insisted.
    "Conjures up all kinds of fantasies, does it?" Guys...everything makes them think about their weenies.
    "You should thank me. He really wanted a Pamela Anderson poster. Ricky may be naïve, but he's still a man."
    Whatever.
    Ricky was back in a flash. He was standing behind me grinning, holding a corndog in each hand.
    "Wow, you must really be hungry."
    Ricky held both of them forward. "I had mine. I bought these for you guys."
    I felt a pang. "Ah, that's so sweet." Grease was dripping down Ricky's fingers. I wrinkled my nose. "I do love a good corndog. Thanks."
    "Thanks, sport," Gus replied enthusiastically. He took one and handed the other to me. "Smile," he whispered in my ear.
    I took a nibble. "Um, this is really good. Thanks, Ricky." Ricky blushed.
    I took each of them by the arm and pretended to nibble on the corndog as we walked. It tasted like a sponge soaked in bile. "So, Ricky, Gus tells me that you're a Pamela Anderson fan."
    Ricky hemmed and hawed and actually turned a little red before finally giving it up. "She's pretty and she's a carpenter."
    I almost choked. "A carpenter?" I turned to Gus for help. "I didn't know that."
    "Ricky and Ma have been watching reruns of 'Home Improvement.'"
    Ricky lives with my mother. Ma just loves having him to cook for and Ricky...well Ricky loves everyone and everything. Needless to say, they get along famously.
    "I'm at a loss. I've never—"
    "Pamela Anderson used to play Lisa, the Tool Time girl on Tim Allen's 'Home Improvement' TV show."
    "She builds houses," Ricky said, adding a note of importance.
    "Builds houses—really? That's a very nice thing to do." Sort of like Habitat for the Humanities with silicone. Then it came to me, a tawdry picture of Pamela Anderson standing in a barn, wearing cutoffs, with a tool belt draped provocatively from her hip. No wonder she appealed to my wonderfully provincial brother. I handed my corndog to Ricky. "I'm really full. Why don't you finish it?"
    "Are you sure?" Ricky asked sheepishly.
    "Definitely."
    Ricky made quick work of the corndog, stripping it down to bare wood in two seconds flat. "I want to build a house with Pamela Anderson," he blurted.
    I had to bite my lip. Gus saw me and nudged me with his hip. "Yeah," he quipped, "me too."
    I dug one of my Ferragamos into Lido's instep and glared at him fiercely. "I don't think she builds houses anymore, Ricky," I said, turning back to him.
    "No?" Ricky seemed clearly disappointed. He scraped the last crumb off the pop stick with his teeth and smacked his lips. "Why not?"
    "I think she gave it up to become a private detective."
    "Like you?" This seemed to excite Ricky tremendously.
    "Kind of the same, Ricky, but different," I said.
    Lido snorted. Ricky didn't know what to make of it. My cell phone rang. I tossed my hair back and threw out my chest, doing my best to look like a floozy. "V.I.P., Valerie Irons Protection," I