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about it,” she said. “It’s not just me. I’ve got two little girls, remember.” Six months passed and she never mentioned his proposal, which drove him crazy. Then one day out of the blue she said, “You know that question you asked me? Well, if the offer still stands, the answer is yes.”
    Henriette was the one who’d christened him “Chief.” She thought “Marcel” was common. Now everyone called him Chief—except Josiane, of course.
    René had warned him about Henriette. René was his warehouse manager and buddy, and they often had drinks together after work.
    “I’ll bet she’s frigid.”
    “I admit that my johnson spends a lot of time out in the cold with that woman. Hand jobs? Blow jobs? No dice. She’s too uptight.”
    “So dump her.”
    As if it were that easy
, Marcel thought. Not only was he married to Henriette, he’d made her head of the Casamia board of directors. He also signed a prenuptial agreement making her his sole beneficiary, so when he died, she would inherit everything. He was bound hand and foot. Yet the worse she treated him, the more devoted to her he became. He sometimes told himself he’d gotten slapped around so much as a kid that he had developed a taste for it.
    And then Josiane had come along. But Marcel was sixty-four, too old to start over. If he got divorced, Henriette would claim half his fortune.

    “No way
that’s
going to happen!” he said aloud, startling Josiane.
    “Okay, so we give Chaval a nice contract without any profit sharing. Or maybe just a little slice, so he feels invested in the business.”
    “A tiny one.”
    “Got it.”
    “Christ, it’s hot in here. Honeybunch, get me an orangeade, okay?”
    Josiane rose from the bed in a rustle of lace and jiggling thighs. Marcel, who liked plump women, smiled.
    He took a cigar from the ashtray and rubbed his bald head.
I’d better watch this Chaval character
, he thought.
Not give him too much power or status in the business. I also have to make sure the punk doesn’t replace me in Josiane’s bed. She’s thirty-eight; she must think about younger guys.
    “I can’t stay over tonight, honeybunch. Big dinner at my stepdaughter’s.”
    “The prima donna or the wallflower?”
    “The prima donna. But the wallflower will be there with her daughters. Hortense, the older girl, is hot stuff, I’m telling you. She’s got me pegged, that kid, she really does. I like her. She’s got class, too.”
    “Those females wouldn’t have class without your money, Marcel. They’d be like the rest of us, giving blow jobs or cleaning houses.”
    Marcel didn’t want to get into an argument, so he just patted Josiane on the rump.
    She handed him the ice-cold orangeade. He gulped it down, rubbed his stomach, and belched loudly. Then he burst out laughing.
    “If Henriette heard me do that, she’d have a fit.”
    “Don’t mention that woman if you want me to be your little snuggle bunny.”
    “All right, already! You know I haven’t touched her since forever.”
    “I should hope not! And I mean it: don’t ever let me catch you in bed with that old bat. That stuck-up, self-important bitch!”
    Josiane knew that Marcel loved it when she tore into Henriette. It excited him to hear the insults in her deep, husky voice.
    “That freeze-dried, wrinkled-assed toothpick! She probably holds her nose when she takes a shit. Maybe Her Holiness doesn’t have a hole between her legs like the rest of us? Because she’s never been fucked by a nice big prick, never had her plumbing reamed by the giant snake.”
    That was a new one, and it went straight to Marcel’s crotch. He impatiently grabbed Josiane and pulled her close, swearing he was going to eat her up, and then eat her some more.
    Josiane stopped ranting and eased herself down on the bed with a sigh of pleasure. She loved this big, fat man. She’d never met anyone so giving or so full of energy. And at his age! He’d chase her around the desk several times a day,