Don’t ask me how but somehow I got invited to a bigwig Fourth of July barbeque up in the Hollywood Hills. (Friend of a friend; what can I say?).
Anyway, being the good guest, I offer to man the grill and soon I’m the master chef it seems, spatula in hand, my baggy apron flapping in the mild breeze.
I hear a low feminine voice behind me. “You have got a smokin’ body.”
I turn and – sure enough – Angelina Jolie is staring at me, cryptic smile adorning that gorgeous face.
“Well thanks, beautiful,” I say, oozing debonair. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“No,” she says, the smile now edging toward mockery. “What I mean is: you’re on fire.”
BILL
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