That's how Brad Pitt fits in. Mr. Pitt (OK, Brad, I'm not calling anyone younger than me "Mr.") had written a book on fly fishing in the wake of "A River Runs Through It," and we'd met a couple years before. I got up the nerve to call him and he agreed to fly in on his way to New York for a book-signing event. After we'd finished for the day I suggested stopping at a bar for a few drinks. He demurred, in keeping with his desire not to be mobbed and maintain some semblance of privacy. So we (Brad, me and his bodyguard Barney) walked from the bookstore and I went into the bar, leaving Brad and Barney outside talking with a few normal people like normal people. Barney, by the way, is the size of the other one, but is neither as upbeat nor as unnervingly obnoxious as the purple dinosaur.I noticed her almost as soon as I walked through the front door. She was a regular in the bookstore, looking charmingly clunky but also with an unmistakable concentration of intelligence. She bought and. ”“Stop spanking yourself Jenny! There’re plenty of people here to do that for you!” A plaintive miaow caught their attention. Rachel turned and smiled. “All right Chester! Come along then! You may join us for dinner.” The big Persian was instantly between their legs purring in deep satisfaction.“I… I thought Chester was a rat stalking up on me Pixie. I thought he was the biggest rat of all, the king of all the rats down here.”Rachel shook with laughter “Nasty big wotten Chester. Has he been fwightening poor little Jenny wenny?” “All right Pixie.” Jennifer laughed ruefully “I’ve got the message!”“You’ve been reading too many novels dear! This isn’t Changi!” Rachel led Jennifer through the cellars. Jennifer was coming to enjoy the intimacy of being attached to Rachel by the wrist. It felt, as Rachel had said, like the ultimate expression of sisterhood. There was a serious point to it too she saw. All your actions required the other’s cooperation. You had to be in complete harmony with.
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