She greeted them and reported she’d put her equipment in the bedroom next to theirs. She was planning on using the room at the end of the hall. It had its own bath, she said, and besides, she thought they might want a little privacy. She’s blushed when she got to that part. People with naturally red hair blush easily—and obviously. Ruth smiled and yanked off her wig. “That’s nice of you. By the way, you are not my daughter,” she said. “I don’t know which sexist moron thought up that idea, but it has been vetoed. You are my sister, Beatrice Silver.” Sam stared wide eyed at Ruth. “Okay, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be and…Right, I’m…Bea Silver. Anything else?” “We always called you Trixie growing up. The boys in the neighborhood called you High-Ho Silver for obvious reasons. You were such a tramp.” “You did? They did what? Ms. Harris…?” “Tell her, Marvin.
