““Good,” said Gideon. “It means the effect of the alcohol is wearing off. One question, by the way: what did you want a hairbrush for?” “I wanted it as a substitute for a mike,” I murmured through my fingers. “Oh, my God! I’m so horrible.” “But you have a pretty voice,” said Gideon. “Even I liked it, and I told you I hate musicals.” “Then how come you can play songs from them so well?” I put my hands in my lap and looked at him. “You were amazing! Is there anything you can’t do?” Good heavens, I heard myself sounding like a groupie. “No. Go ahead, you’re welcome to think me some kind of god!” He was grinning now. “It’s rather sweet of you!””
