He picks her up in front of the Westwood unbelievably promptly. There’s something disconcerting in this. When he’s pulled out onto Wilshire she says, “This is the softest, softest leather I’ve ever sat on in my life. What is this insane -- fucking -- batmobile we’re in?”
"It’s a Bentley, sweetie.”
She blinks twice. Looks around herself. “It’s a Bentley, sweetie,” she says.
“And that’s sheepskin, not leather.”
“Sheepskin, not leather,” she says, stroking it more tentatively now. “This is the part, of course, where I express righteous leftist indignation at the very existence of anything as ludicrous as a quarter-million-dollar automobile.”
“So go ahead.”
“With teachers buying toilet paper for bathrooms in Detroit public schools.”
“So go ahead.”
“I will, I will. It’s just this seat is so, so soft.”
