Cooked Goose

“He’s not letting me do this because he’s a nice guy,” she said, tossing in some teen magazines. “It’s just that he was afraid that if he made me stay here another night by myself, I’d run away to Hollywood , become a hooker/drug addict on Sunset Boulevard.”
    “Now, where would he get an idea like that?” Savannah mused, stretching out on the bed. “How imaginative. A teenage, runaway, drugged-out hooker on the streets of Hollywood . How unique.”
    Margie giggled. “Okay, so it might not have been the most creative threat in the world, but—”
    “It was right up there with holding your breath until you turn blue.”
    She hurried into the bathroom where she scooped miniature shampoos, conditioners and lotions into the bag. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
    “Only because you have a dumb dad. Leave the towels.” Sheepishly, she hung them back on the rack. “What would you do if your kid threatened to run away to Hollywood ?”
    “I’d tell them to go right ahead... everybody’s entitled to follow their dreams of stardom. Then I’d follow them every step of the way, sneaking around behind shrubs and hiding behind lampposts to make sure they didn’t get in real trouble. But my kid wouldn’t take it that far, and neither would you. You’re much too smart a woman for that.”
    Margie halted in midstep and studied Savannah carefully. “You think of me as a woman?”
    “Usually, unless you’re throwing a hissy fit. Don’t you?“
    “I guess not, because I was surprised to hear you say it.“
    “Well, maybe you’d better start thinking of yourself in terms of adulthood. You’ll be twenty-one so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
    “And you think I’m smart?”
    “Except for opening the door without looking through the peep first, absolutely.”
    Margie beamed.
    “So, don’t use a lame threat like that Hollywood hooker malarkey on me, ‘cause I won’t buy it,” Savannah said as she rose from the bed and grabbed one of the full bags. “Let’s blow this joint. We’ve got two pints of Chunky Monkey waiting in my freezer with our names on them.”

    * * *

    7:30 P.M.

    “Hit me! Come on, land a good one!”
    Ryan Stone—all 6’3” and 200 muscular pounds of his gorgeous self—stood in the middle of the mat, encouraging a dainty, Sunday school teacher type to kick the crap out of him. Only the Stone rocks were covered with extra padding in the form of a discreet, but industrial-sized cup.
    Finally, the lady gave him a kick that was slightly more than half-hearted. Savannah sighed, knowing that was all he was going to get out of that student.
    She had asked her close friend, Ryan Stone, former FBI agent, present bodyguard of some of the richest and most famous bodies in Los Angeles, to demonstrate self-defense techniques to a class that had suddenly tripled since the last attack.
    At first, the ladies had been too enchanted by the tall, dark, gorgeous guy to do more than gaze at him. Finally, they were getting into the act.
    “That’s right. Another one!” he shouted at his wannabe attacker. “Another!” She landed a solid kick to his shin. Savannah saw him wince. “Hey, that hurt,” he told the student. “Good job!”
    Savannah motioned for the next combatant to step onto the mat. “Okay, Angie,” she said. “It’s your turn. Front and center.” Less timid than her predecessor, Angie rushed to get into place. Having seen the result of Charlene Yardley’s attack, she seemed especially motivated.
    “He’s coming at you,” Savannah yelled to her. “What are you going to do?”
    “Scream.”
    “Scream what?”
    “No-o-o-o!”
    Ryan grabbed her by the forearm and held tightly, towering over her. She seemed momentarily frozen, her bravado gone.
    “Again!” Savannah jumped onto the mat beside her and shouted into her ear. “Tell him no! Mean it!”
    “No-o-o!” she shrieked. “No-o-o! No-o-o! No-o-o!“
    “That’s it! Knee him in the groin! Stomp his instep! Gouge out his eyes!”
    Ryan effortlessly blocked each punch and thrust, but the girl’s aim was excellent and her delivery enthusiastic.
    “Yes!” Savannah yelled. “Now run! Run! Run!”
    Angie flew off the mat and didn’t stop running until she hit the figurative safety of the far wall.
    “Fantastic!” Savannah said. “Now... Margie, step lively, darlin.’ You’re next.”
    Margie backed away from the mat as though it were covered with burning coals and Ryan were some sort of